#like okay first I was sad now I’m just ???? angry??????

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: pregnancy, kids (you guys have a daughter together), fwb’s, angst with a bit of a hopeful ending, refers to you as ‘girl’ once

Friends with benefits Bakugou who never really got over his ego to fully commit to you. You’re a little ashamed to admit it, but when you fell pregnant, you thought that things would change. That the whole “no feelings” aspect would’ve been dropped, that he would’ve embraced you fully.

But he just…didn’t? If anything, he distanced himself away from you, became so formal like you were another coworker he would address. It was heartbreaking, going through your first pregnancy feeling so, so alone, but having to grin and bear it the whole way through.

He supported you though in every way that he could. He never missed an appointment, would trek to your house during late nights whenever you craved something. He even moved you in to his own apartment during your last trimester, but a couple months after your baby was born, you went back home. You never felt unwelcome, but you couldn’t pretend to be a happy family when he slept in the guest room every night.

So now, you coparent quite easily. At least, it seems easy to Bakugou, but really, it’s all a facade.

In all honesty? He thinks he’s a fuck up. An idiot. The stupidest, shittiest person who’s ever existed.

He thought what he was doing was enough, that the words he didn’t say carried across oceans, formulated into titles that he never verbalized. So when you told him you would be happy to coparent, his world felt upended suddenly, as he holds his tiny little baby girl in his arms.

Coparent? How could a couple coparent? Where did he go wrong? (He only slept in the guest room to give you and baby space, only moved you in late because you lived so far away and you were getting so big. He never said I love you because he was too embarrassed to say it out loud. He didn’t know he had to say it out loud to solidify it. He thought you just knew.)

So it’s why his heart breaks when he catches a glimpse of curly blond hair and red eyes in the grocery store. He tries to duck behind an aisle, but his baby would recognize him anywhere. (It’s true; you’ve sent many videos of her recognizing him on billboards and tv commercials and magazines.)

“Bakugou?” You call, ducking around the corner to catch a glimpse of him. He tries to act nonchalant like he’s looking at cans of soup, tries not to cringe at your formal name. He turns when you come into view, eyes drinking in your attire. His heart breaks a little when he recognizes the shirt you took in your second trimester, still has the pic you sent him of you grinning as you show off what you stole.

“Hey.” Bakugou greets gruffly, mouth pulled tight, but it cracks into a grin when his daughter starts squealing. She’s in the front part of the shopping cart, twisting her little chunky body to get out and get to him. She damn near screams when he sets his basket down to pick her up, rubbing his nose to hers.

“How ya doing, squirt?” He asks quietly, pecking at her chubby cheeks as she instantly starts babbling to him. He holds her close to his chest, eyes full of pure love for his baby girl, and it makes your heart squeeze so tight you think it might burst.

“This isn’t your neck of the woods.” You mutter, head tilting to the side as you take in your daughters excited face to see her father. Bakugou’s eyes snap to your own, letting his daughter play with his fingers in the meanwhile. He looks embarrassed, cheeks a dusty pink as he grumbles and looks away.

“I was just picking up some stuff to drop off for her. Was gonna text you and see if you were home,” he replies, and something tells you that it’s a lie. But you don’t pester him about it, just nod a few times, taking in the sight.

He looks so good like that, in his compression shirt and sweats, his hair mussed from your daughters incessant pulling. He’s grinning at her, but looks so bashful when he turns to you, like he’s thinking about things he knows he shouldn’t, like he has a boatload to say but can’t cough up.

And if you were a mind reader, you’d be so fucking right. He can’t help but reminisce on before you got pregnant, the nights spent with you. The day you told him you were having a girl, the tears you cried when you delivered her. He thinks, filled with so much guilt the entire time, that he wants another one. With you.

“‘S it okay if I walk my favorite girls home?” He asks you gruffly, nibbling on your daughters cheeks to hear her giggle again, uncaring of the drool she leaves on his hand. You feel your eyes widen at his term for you, face suddenly flushing. Favorite? You, his favorite?

Something tells you that you shouldn’t fall down the rabbit hole that is Bakugou Katsuki and his suppressed emotions and shitty ego. But there’s another something that tells you to trust it this time, to let things happen organically and without expectation. So you do.

“I’m sure she would love to show her daddy the new toy her grandma just brought her.” You tell him, giggling when he rolls his eyes at the mention of his mother. But he walks with you the entire time you finish up your grocery order, holding your daughter the whole time and pays for your groceries despite repeatedly telling him that he doesn’t have to.

He pushes her in the stroller stored underneath the shopping cart on the way home, making small conversation. And when you’re halfway home, does he reach for your hand. Only to cross the cross walk though, he tells himself, only for your protection. But he doesn’t let go until you’re in your own place, and even then, he’s close by the entire time. He helps you put away groceries, remembers where everything is like he lives here.

And for some reason, the familiarity makes your heart ache a little more than you would like it to.

[shalpilot]

.

[cybervom1t]

:)))))))

[dancedance-resolution]

guys do you want to know something absolutely insane. i was thinking about a catholic related world news event that happened a while ago and thought to myself man, i can only imagine how crazy it must’ve been for the kids going to my old catholic school the day after that happened. so i googled when it happened to see if my best friends little brother was there when it happened and um. I was there when it happened???? lololol i’ve been thinking about it for 20 mins and i think that now i maybe do remember the teeniest tiniest bit going to school after it happened…. anyways as if i needed any more evidence that my time in catholic high school was deeply deeply traumatic to me, it turns out my brain did the trauma response thing of completely erasing my memory of those last two years lol

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[finelinefae]

safety [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: harry is always there to help bambi, always.

word count: 5.4k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, fluff, age gap (9 years), harry meets the family, crybaby reader lowkey

a/n: apologies for this taking so long. I've moved into university and switched courses within three weeks so I've had to do a lot of adjusting! But I hope you're doing well, thank you so so so much for all the love on the first part of bambi and being so patient with this part <333

this is part 2 of bambi, read part 1 here

. . .

Y/N sighed as she stepped into the living room, her heart sinking at the sight of her mother passed out on the couch. It was Friday night, and her mom was still in her work uniform, one shoe barely hanging from her foot while the other lay haphazardly across the room. A wave of frustration and sadness hit her hard. She had begged her mom to take the day off to watch the boys so she could go on her date with Harry tonight—the date she’d been looking forward to all week.

This was supposed to be their third date, just before she started working with him at Pleasing this weekend. Their last date had been simple—strolling hand in hand by the river, talking about everything and nothing. But tonight was different. Harry had told her to dress up; he had something important to ask her and was taking her somewhere special. Y/N had been buzzing with excitement ever since.

Glancing at her phone, she felt the sting of tears. Halfway through her makeup, she now realized it didn’t matter—she’d have to cancel. With her mother out cold and no babysitter available at such short notice, the responsibility fell on her. And it was ruining everything.

She opened Harry’s contact on her phone, staring at the little pink heart next to his name. Her thumb hovered over the call button as doubt crept in. What if he never wanted to see her again after this? Cancelling last minute was embarrassing, and she dreaded how angry or disappointed Harry might be.

Her thumb pressed down, the ringing growing louder with each second. Anxiety gnawed at her as she picked at the skin around her nails.

Suddenly, the call connected, and Harry’s voice, smooth and soothing like a lullaby, poured through the speaker. “Bambi? Was jus’ about to pick y’ up. You missin’ me already?”

Her lip trembled, and a tear slid down her cheek as she sniffled. “Harry…” Her voice cracked.

“Hey, what’s wrong, love?” Concern filled his voice instantly, and the warmth of it made her chest tighten.

“I-I can’t go on our date tonight,” she confessed, her voice shaky.

“What d’you mean? Don’t be silly, is something wrong?” His slight panic was clear, making her feel even worse.

“No, it’s not like that. It’s just… my mom came home late, and she’s, um, not able to watch the boys, so I have to stay and babysit. I’m really sorry, Harry. I wanted to go tonight, I swear. I understand if you’re mad or—if you never want to see me again—”

“Woah, woah, Bambi, baby, stop panickin’. I don’t hate you, not at all. It’s closer to the opposite, so calm down, yeah? ‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice still thick with emotion. “Y’promise?”

“Five pinkie swears, baby,” he chuckled softly, making her giggle through the tears. “It’s alright. These things happen. But are you okay? Need me to grab you anything? Have y’eaten today?”

His kindness made her heart swell. “N-No, but we’ve got stuff in the freezer I can heat up. Maybe we can reschedule?”

“Bambi, I’m already on my way to your house.”

Her breath hitched. “What? But, Harry, I can’t—”

“You think I’d let a little change of plans stop me from seein’ you? Been needin’ to see m’Bambi all day. How ‘bout this: you help your mum, and I’ll come by and make dinner for all of you. Sound good?”

Her heart skipped a beat. Was he real? Was he really this thoughtful, this willing to come over despite everything?

“Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to. Now, go get in some comfy pjs, and I’ll stop by the store to grab snacks. Maybe we can watch a movie later. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice lighter now. “That sounds perfect.”

“Alright, I’ll be over in thirty minutes. Take a deep breath for me, Bambi.”

Immediate relief washed over her at the idea of having an extra pair of hands to help her with something that she’d normally be left alone to and better yet it was Harry who was coming to help her. So, she did exactly that - breathe. 

. . . 

Y/N was pushing clothes into the washing machine when she heard the doorbell ring. Her heart skipped a beat or possibly maybe two when she heard it. She forced the door shut on the machine and walked to the front door. She frowned the closer she got when she could already hear Harry’s voice but that was soon followed by the voice of her younger brother. 

“I know jujitsu, you know,” Archie announced, his small five-foot frame blocking the doorway.

“You take classes?” Harry asked, bemused.

“No, I learned it on Roblox,” Archie replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ve heard of that one before. You’ll have to show me sometime,” Harry said with a grin.

Archie snorted. “You could just be saying that to get into our house and rob us.”

Y/N’s face heated with embarrassment as she approached the door, ushering Archie out of the way. Harry’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw her. “Y/N, this pizza delivery guy is trying to break into our house,” Archie said. Y/N looked to see Harry holding two pizza boxes and a plastic bag.

“Archie,” Y/N gasped, “this is not a pizza delivery man. This is Harry.”

Harry smiled, clearly trying not to laugh, and offered Archie a small wave. It did nothing to ease the suspicious look on Archie’s face. “Who’s Harry?”

Y/N froze, unsure of how to answer. Harry was both her boss and the man she was dating, but she couldn’t exactly explain that to her little brother. “He’s... my special friend.”

Archie looked between them for a moment, then shrugged and wandered off. Y/N’s shoulders sagged with relief as she turned to face Harry, who was still grinning at her. He looked incredibly handsome in his matching brown suit, his curly hair tousled in that familiar way. Her heart sank a little, knowing he had dressed up for their date.

“H-Harry, I’m really sorry—” she began, but before she could finish, Harry set the pizza boxes down and pulled her into a tight embrace. She breathed in the fruity scent of his cologne as he gently rubbed circles on her back.

“Bambi,” he murmured with a soft sigh, “I missed you.”

She smiled against his chest. “You just saw me the other day, and we FaceTimed last night.”

Harry pulled back slightly, cupping her cheeks with his large hands. “Kiss?”

Her cheeks flushed, as they always did when he asked for a kiss. She stood on her toes, meeting his lips, savouring the softness of his touch and the faint taste of peppermint from his lip balm. 

“Have you eaten yet?” he murmured against her lips. “I brought pizza.”

“You didn’t have to,” Y/N sighed softly. “I was just going to throw something in the oven.”

“Hey, Bambi.” She looked up, meeting his gaze already fixed on her. “I wanted to. I’m here to help, okay? Now, why don’t we eat this before it gets cold? You grab some plates, and I’ll set the table.”

“O-Oh, okay.” She nodded, a bit flustered. “Just so you know, my brothers can be… intense.”

Harry smiled, his expression easygoing. “It’s okay, I’ve got a niece. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Y/N led him into the living room where her little brothers were scattered. Archie sat in the corner, hunched over the computer, likely playing the game he had mentioned to Harry earlier.

“Who are you?” a small voice piped up. Harry glanced down to see a boy around six or seven, looking at him curiously.

“That’s Y/N’s special friend,” Archie chimed in without even turning around from his game.

“Weren’t you the guy making out with my sister the other night?” The eldest of the three boys, who looked about fourteen, spoke up from where he was watching TV. Despite his age, there was a maturity in his tone that caught Harry off guard.

Harry chuckled, feeling Y/N stiffen beside him. He gave the teenager a polite smile. “Well, I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“Sammy go and get the plates from the kitchen, Harry bought us pizza.” Sammy huffed, pausing the tv and doing exactly as his sister said. 

“Jack, can you grab an extra chair?” Y/N asked the youngest boy, her voice gentle but firm. Harry watched as the boys immediately followed their eldest sister’s instructions without question. A small pang tugged at his chest—part of him felt for her, having to shoulder the responsibility of looking after three growing boys. He didn’t know every detail of her family life, but seeing the way they interacted was enough to tell him they’d had to adapt quickly.

They all gathered around the table, two extra-large pizzas laid out in front of them. Harry chuckled at the sight of the boys eyeing the food like it was a rare treasure.

“Calm down,” he murmured with a grin, leaning close to Y/N. “Y’ so stiff, Bambi.”

Y/N blushed, fidgeting slightly. “Sorry, I just get so—”

“So?” Harry interrupted, smirking as he tried to coax her into a fluster. “So what, baby?”

“So nervous,” Y/N huffed, her cheeks burning as she realized he was toying with her.

A throat cleared from across the table, and Y/N suddenly felt three pairs of eyes locked onto them. Jack and Archie looked disgusted by the couple’s banter, while the eldest boy, Sammy, was glaring at Harry with an intensity that made Harry suppress a laugh.

“How old are you?” Sammy asked bluntly, his gaze sharp and protective.

Y/N choked on her drink. “Sammy! You can’t just ask people that—it’s rude!”

Harry chuckled, raising a hand to calm her. “No, it’s alright,” he said, amused. “I’m thirty.”

“Whoa, you’re old!” Archie blurted out, eyes wide with surprise.

“Archie!” Y/N gasped, mortified, while Jack burst out laughing.

“I guess it is kind of old,” Harry shrugged playfully, glancing at Y/N with a wink.

“Are you rich?” Sammy pressed, undeterred.

Y/N’s face flushed even more, praying the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

“I do well,” Harry replied, keeping his tone light. “I own a fashion company.”

“That means he’s rich,” Archie chimed in, eyes lighting up. “Do you have a sports car?”

Harry leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, “I own three.”

Archie gasped, his face a picture of awe. “No wonder you can afford two extra-large pizzas!”

“If you think that’s cool, wait till you hear what else I brought,” Harry teased.

“Candy?” Archie’s eyes grew even wider, filled with excitement.

“Better.”

“Ice cream?”

Harry nodded. “Ice cream, candy, whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles... you name it.”

Archie looked as though he might pass out from pure joy. Sweets after dinner weren’t a common occurrence in their house unless it was a special occasion.

Harry’s smile softened as his eyes flicked to Sammy, who was still watching him with guarded suspicion. “What do you want from my sister?” Sammy finally asked, his tone sharp.

Y/N cringed, wishing she could disappear like Jack, who was contentedly munching on pizza, completely oblivious to the tension. Her cheeks were already burning before she’d even taken a bite.

Harry’s hand found its way to her knee under the table, a silent reassurance that he knew exactly how she was feeling without her having to say a word.

“It’s still early,” Harry said honestly, his gaze meeting Sammy’s without faltering. “But I really, really like your sister.”

Sammy seemed to relax at that, but not without a final warning. “You’re not allowed to like her as much as we do.”

Y/N’s heart squeezed at the words. Despite the challenges, the boys were her world, her best friends.

Harry smiled warmly, his voice sincere. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

. . .

"Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!" Archie came barreling into the kitchen, his face smeared with chocolate and whipped cream from the ice cream sundaes they’d made earlier. Y/N was bent over the washing machine, pulling out clothes to hang on the makeshift line by the window.

"Harry says he's gonna take us to the indoor waterpark in the city for my birthday! Isn't that awesome? And he beat Sammy's score on the new game he bought us!"

Y/N glanced up, smiling softly at Archie's excitement. The boys had been glued to the computer for hours after Harry surprised them with a game they’d been begging for. The sound of their wild laughter had echoed through the house all afternoon.

Footsteps approached the kitchen, and she looked up to see Harry standing in the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Harry, I was just telling Y/N about the waterpark you’re taking us to," Archie said eagerly.

Harry’s eyes flicked to Y/N. "Ah, yes," he said, smiling at her. "I heard there’s a certain someone’s birthday coming up soon."

Archie's birthday was still a month away, and Y/N had only planned a simple celebration—movies, takeout, and cake. As Archie bolted from the kitchen, beaming about the waterpark, Y/N’s smile faded slightly.

Harry noticed the shift immediately. "What’s wrong?" he asked, stepping closer and reaching for her hand. "Did I mess something up?"

"N-no," Y/N replied quickly, shaking her head. "You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just... Archie's birthday isn’t for another month."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "So?"

Y/N hesitated, her words stumbling over themselves. "I just don’t want to make promises, you know, in case… I mean, what if…" She trailed off, struggling to find a way to express the growing anxiety in her chest. She adored Harry, more than she could articulate, but a part of her couldn’t help worrying about the future—the uncertainties that came with letting someone new into their lives.

"Bambi," Harry’s voice was soft as he cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "Where’d you go?"

She blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

His lips quirked into a gentle smile. "Y’ do this thing where you space out, like your mind drifts off somewhere else ‘cause you're thinkin’ too much."

"I do that?" she asked, surprised.

"Mhm," he murmured, his thumb tracing the little furrow in her brow, the touch sending warmth through her. "I like you an awful lot, Bambi. I plan on stickin' around for a long time."

"You do?" Her voice was small, almost disbelieving.

"Yes, I do. And I really like your brothers—they’re a credit to you."

Y/N opened her mouth to deflect, as usual. "Oh, you mean my mom—"

"No," Harry interrupted gently, shaking his head. "I mean you."

Her lips parted in surprise, her eyes misting over. She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear those words. Without thinking, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his, a kiss filled with the gratitude she couldn't quite express in words.

She was about to pull away, but Harry held her close, his hands gripping her hips as he deepened the kiss. His soft, warm lips made her head spin, and for a brief moment, the world around them disappeared.

That is, until Sammy’s voice rang out from the hallway. "I’m coming in, so you better not be swapping saliva in there!"

Harry broke the kiss with a chuckle, glancing over his shoulder. "Alright, alright, we’re behaving," he teased, winking at Y/N before moving to the sink. "Let me help you," he offered, turning on the faucet to start washing the dishes from dinner.

Y/N watched him for a moment, her heart swelling with warmth. The words he’d spoken earlier echoed in her mind—words that had already begun to feel familiar, but only when they came from him.

. . .

Y/N woke up the following morning, not from the alarm she’d set for 6 a.m., but from the rapid thumping of her heart. Anxiety rippled through her, making her stomach twist with nerves. Today was her first day working at Pleasing, her first day officially under Harry’s employment. She was excited, of course, but that didn’t stop the butterflies in her belly from multiplying.

She stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, taking slow breaths to calm herself. Her phone buzzed softly on the nightstand, and she reached over, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the message.

Harry: Morning, Bambi 🌞 There’s a car on its way to pick you up. No need to stress, yeah? I’ll be waiting for you at the office. You’re gonna be amazing x

A small smile crept onto her face despite the nerves. Harry’s words were like a warm hug on a cold morning, making her feel just a little bit braver. She couldn’t help but appreciate how he seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear, right when she needed to hear it.

She quickly typed a reply, her fingers still shaky.

Y/N: Thank you. I’m a little nervous but I’ll do my best. See you soon 💕

Y/N got out of bed and went through her morning routine, trying to focus on each task to stop her mind from spiraling into all the things that could go wrong today. She picked out an outfit she hoped said “professional but approachable,” taking extra care to smooth out any creases in her clothes. When she was finally dressed, she checked the time—6:45 a.m.—the car Harry sent should be arriving any minute.

She stepped outside, the cool morning air doing little to ease her racing thoughts. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. The street was quiet at this hour, and she couldn’t help but feel like the only person awake in the world.

Just then, a sleek black car pulled up in front of her, the driver rolling down the window with a friendly nod. "Y/N?" he asked, and she nodded in response.

“That’s me,” she said, her voice a little shaky. She climbed into the backseat, clutching her bag on her lap as the driver started the journey to the office. She stared out the window, watching the familiar streets blur by, and tried to give herself a little pep talk.

You can do this. You’re ready. Harry believes in you, so believe in yourself, too.

Her phone buzzed in her hand again, another message from Harry.

Harry: Also going on a coffee run, do you want anything? x

Bambi: Isn’t that my job today? x

Harry: It’s my job to take care of you everyday

Y/N didn’t realize how wide her smile had grown until she caught her reflection in the glassy screen of her phone. A soft blush crept onto her cheeks as she tried to compose herself, glancing out the window to distract from the giddy feeling bubbling inside her. She watched as the quiet suburbs melted into the bustle of the big city, her heart thudding against her ribcage. 

Slowly, the car pulled up outside Pleasing. The building was elegant, with an arched doorway and a clean awning that had the brand's name in bold letters. Through the large glass doors, Y/N could see a glimpse of the bright, stylish interior. Her heart pounded as the car came to a stop, her mouth opening with a desperate plea to leave, to turn back and retreat home where she could hide away—but then she saw Harry, and her words fell away for an entirely different reason.

She’d seen Harry in a suit before, but seeing him in full CEO mode was something else. He wore a flawless black-and-white suit, cufflinks gleaming at his wrists. His eyes were stern, his entire demeanor unshakeable—until he looked her way, and his whole form softened.

“You’re here,” His voice was warm and inviting. She wanted to leap into him and hide herself within him but she wanted to be professional.

She stood in front of him, not wanting to get any closer to her new boss, “Good morning, Mr Styles.”

The corner of Harry’s lips quirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Good morning,” he replied, savoring her formality. He took a step closer, his gaze gentle yet focused. “Ready for today?”

“Y-yes,” She said but it wasn’t all that convincing.

Harry grabbed her hand, “You’ll be just fine Bambi.” He murmured the nickname just for her to hear. 

The warmth of his hand around hers steadied her, but it also set her pulse racing. His fingers intertwined with hers, and he kept their joined hands subtly hidden between them as they walked through the grand entrance and into the lobby. Y/N’s nerves started to quiet, replaced by a growing excitement.

As they stepped into the elevator, Harry’s thumb brushed gently over her knuckles. She looked up at him but his eyes were looking ahead. Her eyes fixated on his sharp jawline and smooth, freshly-shaven face; he looked even more polished, clean-cut and distinctly professional since she’d last seen him.

When they reached his office floor, Harry led her down a sleek corridor and into an airy, open workspace with views of the city skyline. The scent of fresh coffee lingered in the air, and a few team members looked up with welcoming smiles.

Just ahead, a woman in her mid-thirties with shoulder-length auburn hair and an easy smile approached them. Her professional but warm demeanor put Y/N at ease almost instantly. Harry released Y/N’s hand as he greeted her.

“Lindsey, this is Y/N,” he said, glancing between them. “She’s starting with us today. I thought you might help her settle in and get familiar with everything.”

Lindsey extended her hand warmly. “Oh is this-”

Harry’s gaze lingered on her with a slight, unreadable intensity, prompting Lindsey to pause mid-sentence. Then, noticing Y/N, she broke into a bright smile.

“Y/N! It’s so nice to meet you.” She laughed lightly, her eyes flicking to Harry with a teasing glint. “I have to admit, I’m a little curious why anyone would sign up to be his assistant—he can be a real pain most days.” She shot him a playful look. “But don’t worry, just don’t enter his office at midday - he can get real hangry.” 

Y/N giggled and Harry’s eyes brightened at the sound, ““Y/N,” he said, his voice warm, “you’re in very good hands.” He turned to Lindsey. “Make sure she gets a proper introduction to everything, but don’t overwhelm her.”

Lindsey chuckled. “I’ll keep it light for today, boss. We’d be here all day getting into your list of demands everyday.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and with a final look at Y/N, said, “I’ll see you later, then.” His words were simple, but the small smile he gave her was anything but. As he walked away, Y/N felt the anticipation return, wanting him to come back and be the one to show her around. She wasn’t the best with meeting new people. She was shy and nervous and fumbled over her words too often but Harry had great faith in her so she would try her best to do good. 

“Alright, let’s get started,” Lindsey said, gesturing to an open desk area near Harry’s office. “First things first—coffee? I’ll show you the best spot, and then we’ll make our way through the to-do list Harry sent this morning.” 

. . .

Y/N liked Lindsey a lot. 

She was funny and gentle. Whenever Y/N made a mistake—like earlier when she accidentally printed everything in pink instead of black and white—Lindsey would correct her kindly, reminding her that mistakes happen. Y/N wasn’t used to this kind of patience; her old boss would snap or hiss at even the smallest error. Here, it felt nice to breathe a little easier.

Lindsey spoke warmly about her two little boys, whom she cared for while her husband was away with the military. She had once been a stay-at-home mom, but over time, the isolation began to weigh on her; she craved more than just the role of mother and wanted to be out in the world, around people. When she applied to Pleasing, she’d explained her situation to Harry during her interview, and he had offered her flexible hours so she could still make it home to her boys each evening.

Whenever Lindsey mentioned the things Harry had done for her and her family, her voice would grow thick with emotion, and she spoke of him with genuine admiration. Y/N found herself thinking of her own circumstances and the way Harry had taken her under his wing, feeling a warmth for him settle in her chest.

“Okay, Harry’s in a meeting, so we need to bring in tea and coffee,” Lindsey said, heading over to a small rolling cart neatly stocked with cups, a teapot, and coffee supplies.

She guided Y/N through the arrangement, showing her how Harry liked his tea prepared. “He’s particular about the temperature—hot but not scalding,” Lindsey explained with a wink. “Don’t worry you’ll get the hang of things.”

Y/N carefully poured the tea, her hands steadying with each instruction Lindsey offered. They finished preparing the drinks, and Y/N took a deep breath, steadying herself as she reached for the cart handle.

“You’ll be fine,” Lindsey reassured her, offering a supportive smile. “Just go in, keep it simple, and make sure everyone has their drinks. You’ll be a natural at this in no time.”

“I’m going in alone?” Y/N’s eyes widened.

“It’s good practice,” Lindsey grins, “Good luck!”

Y/N squared her shoulders and pushed the cart toward the meeting room. The murmurs grew louder as she approached, but her nerves eased slightly upon catching Harry’s eye. His expression softened for a moment before returning to its professional coolness, a small signal just for her.

As she entered, she was met with the sight of a large glass table surrounded by men in sharp suits, all eyes shifting toward her. Taking a breath, she rolled the cart around and placed the cups in front of Harry and the others. Just as she reached for the teapot, a slight tremor ran through her hand, and she felt a sudden rush of panic.

In an instant, she lost her grip. The teapot tipped, sending hot tea spilling across the table and splattering onto a crisp white shirt belonging to one of the men. The room fell silent, and every gaze shifted from her to the angry figure, whose face flushed crimson.

““Watch where you’re going!” he barked, rising from his seat. “Do you even know how to serve properly?”

Y/N’s heart raced, the color draining from her face. Just as she opened her mouth to apologize, a surge of anger rippled through the room.

“Do you think it’s okay to talk to a woman like that?” Harry murmured, his voice laced with malice.

“She stained my shirt! She’s lucky I’m not making her pay for it,” the man continued, and Y/N could see the discomfort on the faces of the other attendees, their expressions telling her they knew he’d crossed a line.

Harry’s eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them. He reached into his blazer pocket, pulling out a checkbook and a fountain pen. With swift strokes, he began to scribble before turning to Y/N. “Y/N, would you mind delivering this to Mr. Smith?”

Y/N nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she accepted the check, its weight feeling both significant and heavy.

Mr. Smith snatched the check from her hands, glancing down at it with a scowl. Written across the page was Harry’s signature alongside a mere fifty dollars. “Your final check—enough to cover the shirt, I assume? I think I saw the same one in the TK Maxx sale rack.”

“Final?” Mr. Smith asked, incredulous.

“Correct,” Harry replied nonchalantly.

Mr. Smith’s face burned bright red. He huffed, rising from his seat and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The room fell silent. “Meeting adjourned,” Harry announced, and everyone flooded out, eager to escape the awkward tension.

Y/N stood in the corner, barely able to look up. Embarrassment washed over her; she wondered if she could do any job right. Her eyes watered as she bit down on her lip to keep from crying.

Suddenly, two polished shoes came into view, and big hands cupped her cheeks, gently forcing her to meet his gaze. “Are you okay?” Harry asked, concern etched on his face.

She wanted to say yes, to express pride in her efforts and how well she had handled the day, but instead, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his shirt. “I feel like I can’t do anything right,” she admitted, her voice muffled.

Harry sighed, his arms encircling her as he rubbed the back of her head soothingly. “You did nothing wrong.”

“You can’t fire people because of me, Harry.”

“Don’t worry about him. We’ve wanted to get rid of him for ages—just a sexist prick. Turns out you’re a pretty good assistant for giving me an excuse to fire someone on the spot,” he chuckled lightly.

Y/N looked up at him, her heart fluttering as his hand held her cheek, his thumb brushing beneath her eye. “These eyes,” he whispered.

A smile broke through her sadness. “I’m sorry for ruining your meeting.”

“Don’t care, Bambi.” He was so much taller than her, nearly a foot difference, so he had to lean down to brush his nose against hers, their lips ghosting against each other. “You actually made it better.”

“I did?” she whispered, her mind suddenly forgetting the man who had yelled at her.

“Mhm,” he hummed, and then, gently, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was soft and lingering, sending a warm flutter through Y/N that chased away the remnants of her earlier embarrassment. She melted into the moment, her worries fading as Harry’s lips brushed against hers. 

“Okay, what the hell happened?” Lindsey barged into the room, causing Y/N to leap away from Harry, her cheeks flushing.

“Wow, Lindsey,” Harry said, rubbing a hand over his mouth, both of them flustered as Lindsey glanced between them. “Try knocking next time, yeah?”

“Since when have I ever needed to knock?” Lindsey shot back, her eyebrows knitting together as she assessed Y/N, whose face was now bright pink.

“Since now,” Harry replied. Clearing his throat, he added, “If you’ll excuse me…” He brushed past her, leaving the tension lingering in the air.

A laugh escaped Y/N’s lips, even as embarrassment tinged her cheeks; it was the first time she’d witnessed him so flustered. Lindsey arched an eyebrow, a teasing smile creeping onto her face. “So, are you two like…?”

“No,” Y/N replied, the denial tumbling out a bit too quickly.

Lindsey shot her a knowing look but chose not to press further. “Might want to let him know about that lipstick stain on his upper lip,” she added, rolling the cart out of the room and leaving Y/N feeling distinctly warm and flustered.

. . .

Harry kissed Y/N with the lights off on her front porch after dropping her home. Y/N melted against him, her fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepened. She felt a rush of warmth spread through her, the sweet taste of his breath mixing with the fresh night air. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, their bodies fitting perfectly together. “Bambi,” He slurred against her lips.”

“Hm?” She hummed, unable to stop herself when she pulled him closer. 

“I was thinking,” He murmured, pulling away but his hands still firmly gripping her waist, “Maybe this weekend y’ could come to my place and stay the night.”

“The night?” She’d never had a sleepover before let alone one at a boys house. 

“Yeah… Would you be okay with that?” 

“Y-Yeah, I think so.”

“Y’ think so?” Harry grinned, “Are y’ sure?”

She smiled, “I’d like that.”

“Well, alright then,” he murmured, leaning down to place one last, soft kiss on her lips. “Goodnight, Bambi.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” Y/N barely suppressed a smile as she watched him walk to his car, a flutter in her chest as he turned back for a final wave.

Before she turned to step into her house, her phone buzzed and a text came through from Harry.

Harry: I think we have to get better at this whole sneaking around thing

Y/N: Tell yourself that, you kissed me first!

Harry: Can’t help it Bambi 

Harry: I’m obsessed with you

. . .

taglist ~~

@ravenclawmarvel @noididnotsignupforthis @comicalivy  @boomitsallie1 @hazzarules @squirreljoe @c3lline0 @harry2121 @lizsogolden @its-his-dimples @tchalametishot @youngpastafanmug @awritingtree @reidsblessing @idontcareforausernamesblog @madstyles3204 @cherrys4suckers @lomlolivia @tenaciousperfectionunknown

[slasherscream]

the absolute INSANITY of the pushing your s/o away thing with the crazy ass boy gang… it’s like triggering a dog’s prey drive but for serial killers w abandonment issues

CRAZY ASS BOYS GANG + PUSHING THEIR HAND AWAY/REJECTING AFFECTION

❥ who gets pissed the fuck off ❥

Billy Loomis - Is irritated off rip. Billy plays it cool but he needs physical affection from you. He’s casual about it so he flies under the radar, but this is a stage five clinger. He’s always doing something small. Touching your fingers. A hand on your back. Neck. Sitting behind you instead of putting you directly in his lap. It’s little stuff. Hovering. Smack his hand away one of these times and his jaw clenches right away. “What the hell is your problem?” Please snuggle up to him and don’t start world war 3. It’s not worth the joke. 

Kevin Khatchadourian - Quick question, why do this to yourself? Kevin does not need, nor does he particularly enjoy, physical contact. Period. He is gracious enough to give you physical contact because he knows you’re built different (pathetic). For you to then turn around and spit in the face of him being kind enough to meet your needs? …. Quite crazy of you. The look he gives you is pure confusion because he’s honest to God baffled. What do you want to accomplish here? Go ahead and start begging now, because he’s not touching you for a long while. 

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - Swings wildly between damn near dodging any physical affection you attempt to give him to hanging off you like a squid on a ship. No in-between. For you to have the audacity to reject him when he’s feeling clingy? How dare you. He doesn’t have to beg anyone for attention! Did you forget who you’re dating? Doesn’t even care if you did it with obvious playfulness. He’s sensitive. He’s tender. He’s a bitch. He goes to get up and leave entirely and you have to grab him and beg him to cuddle so this doesn’t become a week long cold war. Happy ego stroking! 

Stu Macher - What you’re not about to do is ruin his mood. Baby, he’s about to ruin yours. How about that? If you push his hands off you once he enjoys a little playful bitchiness. Playing hard to get. He likes to chase, it’s cool. Twice? Okay…. We’re irritating him. Three times? He’s gonna grab your hand, stop smiling, and stare at you. When he places his hand back where it belongs, on your thigh, don’t act up again. He could make your whole week go to shit. Don’t start wars you won’t win. He’s the king of playing stupid games and winning stupid prizes. 

Nathan Prescott - Has to bluster and get visibly pissed off because he is rejection sensitive to a degree that is astounding, frankly. Let you see him upset after he tried to be affectionate and you said no? Hah! Not fucking likely. Being physically affectionate in the first place doesn’t come easy to him. Quality time is more his speed. Even worse if it wasn’t a sexual advance he was making. He tried to wrap an arm around you and you shrug him off? You’ll be lucky to get a hello out of him for the next week. Good luck soldier.

David Mccall - Outwardly, he pretends to be despondent and sheepish when you bat his hand away. He’s using sadness as a shield. If he’s sad then you might feel bad and give in. He’ll use any tool in his arsenal to get his way. One of his greatest skills is speaking in a soft voice, just shy of how you’d speak to a toddler, and telling you: “I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” This is all to hide the fact that you rejecting him in any way, shape, or form makes him so angry he can barely think. You might be able to catch the rage hidden behind the veil. If you’re quick enough. David puts on a convincing show, but his gentle smile is twitching at the edges.

❥ who gets sad and mopey ❥

Jordan Li - Oh you pushed them away? No, that’s cool, it’s totally fine. You can want space. Everyone’s entitled to their own space bubble. Of course. Are you having a bad day? Are you mad at them? Did they do something wrong? Did they piss you off? These are the types of questions Jordan is going to “casually” ask for the next ten minutes while they sit really close to you. They’re not touching you! They always sit with their legs spread so wide. Their arm isn’t around you, it’s on the back of the couch. You’re nitpicking here, babe. They’re staring at you with their big brown eyes. No, they didn’t get any closer while you weren’t looking. 

Josh Washington - Why would you do this to him? Don’t push his hand off you unless you mean it or you’re being obviously playful about it. If you pretend to be mad at him while you do it, no matter how unconvincing of an actor you are, he will believe you. Sensitive king. He also won’t go to touch you again until you initiate the contact. Physical touch is reassuring and comforting to him but even he (category five clinger) gets touch aversion at times. As observant as he is, he knows some people are uncomfortable asserting their boundaries, so they’ll try to soften the blow of saying no by being “playful”. He cannot take the risk! You could mean it but don’t want to hurt his feelings. Josh interprets many playful no’s as real ones. Better safe than sorry.

❥ secret third worse thing ❥

Sebastian Valmont - Doesn’t take it for anything more than what it is. If you’re being playful he recognizes it. If you’re seriously not wanting to be touched at any given moment he understands that as well. However, in the case of being playful, you’ve started a war you can’t win. Because, as much as Sebastian enjoys chasing you…  Sebastian also likes to be chased. Ten minutes from now you’ll go to give Sebastian’s cheek a kiss and he’s going to dodge you. Hard. To such an extent it’s bordering on insult. He’ll be wearing a cat that got the canary grin all the while. 

Jason Dean/JD - Doesn’t take you seriously even if you are dead serious. I’m sorry, you’ve discovered his worst character trait by far. Most boundaries are a joke to him. He always wants to touch you. He loves you! He craves you like a drug. You should feel the same for him, in equal measure and desperation. So why wouldn’t you want him touching you? Holding you close. He’s so gentle with you (usually). His arms should feel like home. No matter how long a day you’ve had. No matter how overwhelmed you might be with sound, sight, touch. In JD’s eyes you’re one soul in two bodies. He always wants you near. He knows you want the same. You’re just a little dramatic sometimes.

[hyukascampfire]

VELVET FUZZ ､ა h.k

it’s strange that you find a teary-eyed, pink-nosed man outside your house while coming home on christmas eve. even stranger that he’s got antlers sprouting up from his head. ˒ ´-ྀི

⚞ ᪖ ˒ 𐔌 🪡 ꒱ ･ 5.4k

𝓟airings ˒ reindeer hybrid!hueningkai x reader

𝑔 ; smut ˒ fluff

𝓦arnings ˒ soft dom!reader, hand job, kai cums on his belly, quiet sub!kai, usual hybrid stuff like scenting and all that, pretty sweet all the way through, dry humping, jealous kai a little bit?, he’s clingy, happy trail mention (mmm), i really don’t know if i’m missing anything cause i’m writing this at 5am >.< lmk!

✎୭ ashlynn's note thabk you to the lovely anon that requested this one! OH MY GOSH. this one was not meant to be super long, and i felt awkward writing fluff at first (not my strong suit, but i sorta strengthened that muscle here!) but i grew so attached to this kai by the end!! how do we feel?

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

Dazed and sad-eyed, there’s a man on your porch. 

With your keys still jingling against each other, you freeze. Your feet ache in your work heels, and your shirt collar is irritating your neck. It’s already bad enough that you’d worked a full shift Christmas eve, but coming home to this? Today is never going to end. 

Maybe you should be worried that there’s a man hanging around outside your home, but to be quite frank... You’re more concerned with the very odd, very realistic antlers that seem to just... sprout up from his brownish tangle of hair. It looks incredibly heavy, just to be set on a headband. 

“Can I help you with something?” you say, taking measured steps toward your front door. You’d already slipped once on your way out from the office today—crashlanding now, when you’ve made it most of the way, would be a shame. A thick, pristine layer of snow fluff sits pretty over the grass, thicker toward the edges of the concrete path up to your house where you’d shoveled it off. 

He perks up, turning to you with a pink button nose and round eyes. 

The look on his face tugs at your heart. Frantic and fidgety—maybe he’s gotten lost? It’s just neighborhood here, though. No matter how he might’ve gotten lost, it shouldn’t be that hard to find his way around. Not to the degree that he’d be looking at you like you’ve come to save him as he is now. 

Tall and lanky, he opens his mouth to say something a few times, but nothing comes out. Despite his frost-bitten nose and the snow dusting his hair and shoulders, he doesn’t shiver. You’ve only just came from your heater-blasted car, and your bones have already started to chatter. That’s the second strange thing you note about him. 

“Are you okay?” you say, voice going gentler. “Do you need help?” The chill on the surface of your skin begins to seep deeper. You cross your arms and tuck your fingers between the space between them and your body to conserve your own heat. 

When he opens his mouth, the words finally fall out in a surge like blizzard. He was having a hard time getting them out before, but once he gets one out, they all come tumbling out after it. “They left me behind!” he says. His voice is pretty, even as it wavers. “They left—and they can’t... make any stops! I can’t believe they forgot me,” he says. Toward the end, his voice breaks. 

Tugging your scarf up over your nose, you say, “Who? Who left you?” It muffles into the red cashmere. “Slow down. I want to help.” 

Obviously, he’s been left behind by his friends as some sort of mean-spirited prank. It doesn’t seem like they’re good friends, either, if they have him panicked like this. He really believes they’re just going to leave him here. You frown at the funny aching in your chest. For whatever reason, one you decide not to delve into, that irks you. Taking in his wobbling lip and screwed up face, it makes you angry—it makes you want to make sure he’s alright.  

You make split-second decision, looking at the state of him. He doesn’t seem dangerous. Actually, not one ounce of you believes that he could be. Maybe it could be a clever act, tugging on the heart strings of young women to take advantage of them. You’ve heard of plenty of that. But, you’re grown and have your own intuition. “Do you want to come inside? You look frozen.” 

He nods. 

“Okay,” you say, ushering him in with a hand gesture. “Let’s get inside. Warm up.” 

Following you inside, his tall and nervous figure trails. You kick off your heels and peel your work attire off piece by piece by the door, shedding until you’re just in your skirt and blouse. The skin everywhere but your legs, where you have a pair of thick tights pulled on, prickles in the heater’s embrace. Your scalp sighs in tandem with you as you let your hair down. 

Once you’re ten pounds lighter and comfier, you turn to him. He’s watching you with curious, sparkling eyes. 

“What’s your name?” you say. “And why did your friends leave you?” 

Continuing to watch you as you push past him and into your home, he sniffles and says, “They’re not my friends. They don’t like me; they think I’m useless. They did it on purpose—I know it. They left me here on purpose, and I can’t get back until next year!”  

Whatever he means by not being able to get back until next year, you’ve got not even an inkling. “What’s your name?” you repeat. 

“Kai,” he answers, eyes low. 

In his hair, there’s a twitching. You frown. “Here, do you want me to take that? It looks heavy,” you say, offering your hands out in a gesture up at his antler-headpiece-costume-thing. “I can hold on to it for you.” 

Shooting you a strange look, he says, “Take them? They’re my antlers.” 

The two of you blink at each other for a moment, both lost for wildly different reasons, it seems.  

“I mean, yes, I know they’re yours. I’ll give them back; I promise,” you say. “But while you’re here, we can put them on the counter or something. Y’know, just ‘cause it looks heavy.” 

Wiping at a teary cheek, says, “You can’t take them off.” 

Reaching up to his head, Kai tugs at one of those thick antlers. It doesn’t come off. 

Opening your mouth to speak, you don’t know what to say. Laugh? You’ve never seen anybody secure a headpiece so well to their head. He’s really serious about this costume. “Can I touch?” you ask. 

Jutting his lips out in a why not? sort of frown, he nods. 

With an investigative hand, you reach up over his head. The antlers aren’t so tall—maybe a few good inches on his head. Smooth fuzz meets the pads of your fingers. You run them up the grooves and ridges, all solid and made soft with the velvet of genuine antlers. You pause.  

Kai’s eyes linger on you. His voice is light and airy as he says, “You can tug on them, if you want. It doesn’t hurt.” 

You don’t even ask him why it might hurt if you tug. Like this, running your fingers over the unnervingly realistic length of it, a seedling of something unbelievable plants. Wrapping your hand around it to tug, you water that seed. 

It doesn’t budge. In fact, it’s so solid against his head that it can’t be anything but grown from it. 

“See?” he hums, unperturbed with your exploring hands. 

You don’t answer him. Not when, from his fluff of hair, you spot something even harder to explain away. Ears. Your mouth falls open as you take on into a gentle hand, running your thumb over it. It’s soft, warm, and real under your touch. It twitches, moving like attached to a living thing, too. Reeling, you step back. 

“You’re—how did you do that?” you say. “Make it like that?” 

Sweet face twisting into a puzzled frown, he says, “What do you mean? They’re my antlers and my ears. Every reindeer has them.” 

Taking another step back, you shake your head and narrow your eyes down on him. “No... No, I mean make them feel real.” At the edges of your fingertips, the echoes of warmth linger. You think and think, and what you come to believe... 

You begin to believe something absurd.  

“They are real,” he tells you.  

Letting that materialize inside of you for a moment, you say something stupid. “You’re a reindeer. The other reindeer left you.” 

Cheeks a rosy pink, he nods dutifully, despite that being what he was telling you this whole time. “They don’t like me. It... was my first Christmas, and I’m new, and they all...” Making himself sad all over again, his shoulders droop heavy. 

For the defeat and abandoned twist to his glossy eyes, you believe him. Maybe that makes you stupid, or maybe gullible. But you believe him, and so does your heart. It aches at the look on his face. Mending those steps you’d taken away from him for fear, you inch closer to him and take his face in your hands. His cheeks are plush against your skin. Over his nose and cheeks are a spackling of dusty freckles, and his eyes are shiny and hold bare trust for you even as you touch him. Innocent trust, though he’s lost and vulnerable, and you’d only just met. 

You can’t mistreat that trust. You won’t. He’s a stranger in your home, and this is absolutely not where you thought you’d be, coming home on Christmas eve. But your intuition speaks once more to you, and you willingly follow. Or, perhaps it’s not intuition speak to you. Maybe it’s those big, twinkling brown eyes, and the tears brimming in them. 

It’s just you living here, anyway. No roommates, hardly any friends over... You’d told yourself you’ll start putting yourself out there—to get a boyfriend to make the walls of your home a less isolating sight. But it was always later. I’ll do it tomorrow, I’ll do it next week, I’ll do it next year... You never really made good on that aspiration. Instead, you fill those gaps with soul-sucking hours at the office. 

“When will they come back?” you ask. “Would you like to stay here until they come back?” 

Wringing his fingers out, he nods. He stands there all reserved and meek, still so hurt, but his big eyes sparkle like he holds the Christmas sky in them. With emotion. 

“Okay,” you say. “Okay. You can stay here.” 

Perhaps you don’t have anything for him. No male clothes, especially none that will fit his frame, no extra bedroom or bed, and hardly enough groceries. But, what you do have, it’ll be enough. Just until they realize they’ve left him behind and come back to retrieve him. 

You could hardly leave him out there the way you found him. 

༄ 

Blinking your eyes open, you focus your bleary eyes on the broad figure in your doorway. 

For the entirety of the night, Kai trails you. His eyes roam over your home, and his nose twitches as he takes in the scent of it. Into the kitchen to grab a quick snack, into the living room to click on the T.V., you hardly were able to get into your room alone to tug off your work clothes. When you stepped out in something comfier, he was hovering around by the door and perked up as you emerged.  

He didn’t talk much as you winded down, either. When you’d first seen him outside, he was a frantic, rambling, fat-teared mess. He’s gotten quieter, just acclimating to the place. You ask him if he’s comfortable a few times and offer him snacks, but... well, the situation is strange. You’re both a little thrown off.  

Eventually, you fluffed up the couch and made it nice with thick pillows and fur blankets for him. Usually, you’d unplug the tree before beg, even on Christmas night. You left it lit up for him. 

Kai, stood in your doorway, tries to muster up what he wants to say. He shifts, antsy. 

Your limbs and brain are still heavy with sleep as you say, “What’s wrong, baby?” It’d only been a good... thirty minutes since you left him to sleep on the couch. Drained to the bone by your day’s work, you knocked out pretty much as soon as your skin hit the sheets. 

“I’m sorry...” he mumbles, silhouette meek in the doorway, where the dim light of the tree illuminates the edges of him. “I... This is the first time I’ve slept anywhere but the North Pole. I’ve never slept alone.” 

If letting him stay in your home was already insane, then letting him sleep in your bed was even more so. Scooting lazily over on the bed, you pat the empty space it frees. Who cares? You know what it is to be lonely. “Wanna sleep in here?” you say, lips slow and lethargic. 

“Can I?” he says. The steps he takes toward you are hesitant.  

You tug the blankets back over your shoulders and hum. “Mhm...” 

The bare side of your mattress dips beneath his weight. He shifts around and tries to get comfortable, shifting around until his antlers don’t scrape the headboard and he’s settled. 

Body heat beside you, or just to sleep beside somebody... you haven’t had that in a long time. Everything feels both thrown for a loop and more familiar. 

“Do you miss it?” you ask. It’s a stupid question; of course he does. 

Drooping lashes fluttering down onto his cheeks while he blinks and looks around, uncertain where to rest his gaze, he nods in answer. His shag of hair brushes over his cheeks, dangling as he lets his head rest on a pillow. “Yeah. It’s so different here.” 

Tracing his features, the curve of his cheek made soft and glowy in the clear, wintry moonlight, the rest of his face in shadow, the strain of an old ex’s shirt you’d given him to change into around his shoulders, and his eyes. They’re not so nervous, now. They digest you and your figure, just as he’d digested the rest of your home. You’re sure it is strange—getting left behind in a place so far from home. If it were, you might be the same. Worse, actually. 

It’s good you found him. People treat the things they don’t understand awfully. None would believe him—they’d slam doors in his face or worse. You’re still not entirely settled on the reality of it, anyway. 

“Maybe I can show you what this part of the world is like,” you mumble, relenting to the heaviness in your eyes. “Before they come and get you.” 

He doesn’t answer. You’re not sure if he reacted at all; all you see is the black of your eyelids and the wispy tendrils of sleep beckoning you. 

You sleep warmer on Christmas night than you have in a long time. Sometimes, you think you wake up to the weight of a hand on the curve of your pajama-clad hip, or maybe the puffs of sleep-ridden breath in your neck. In the center of your chest, your heart glows and flutters when his sleepy fingers skim over the bare skin of your waist where sleep had ridden it up. You don’t say anything—you don’t have the heart to. 

He feels nice up against your back, anyway.  

༄ 

Christmas comes and goes. Nobody comes to collect Kai. Strangely, selfishly, you’re happy for it. 

No different from the first day, he trails you everywhere. The only difference is that he doesn’t look so shaken. He’s gotten used to you and the home. When you get up in the mornings to leave for work, he complains and rambles about, what if they come while you’re gone? and that he doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. You think he doesn’t want to leave—you hope he doesn’t, at least. 

Coming home to someone waiting for you, who greets you with a slow smile as you kick off your shoes... You’ve gotten used to it. Things don’t feel so hollow, and your life doesn’t feel like a husk of what a life should be anymore. Rather than returning to a house that echoes your lone sounds back to you, you return to a home. The house has begun to smell like him, musky and coveting  

You really hope they don’t come back to get him. It feels awful to admit to yourself, but to pretend that it’s anything else would be dishonest. If they had any intentions to, they would’ve by now anyway. 

“Which?” you say, holding a glittering skirt and a silvery, ruffled one in front of you. “I think the silver one makes more sense for New Year’s.” 

Kai sits on your bed. For some reason, his shoulders sag. “I don’t understand,” he says, toying with the fabric of the sweats you’d bought him. “Why can’t you have fun here? With me?” 

You place the red one over yourself again, and then the silver one, and furrow your brows. Preoccupied by images of your outfit with either, you throw your words over your shoulder. “Just wanna see some friends, Kai. I won’t be out for too long. I’d bring you, but... I don’t think you’d like it.” 

The silver one it is. It’ll go nice with the baby tee. Discarding the other in a pool on the floor, you collect the pieces of your outfit into your arm to change. 

When you turn to head into the bathroom, Kai looks utterly dejected. He watches you, brows furrowed and he’s worrying his lip. 

“Kai, baby,” you say. “It’s okay. I’ll go just until midnight, and then I’ll be back here with you.” 

Staring at you for a few minutes more, his face sours. His hair, a gentle fall of loose curls, moves with a shaking of his head. “It’s not...” he starts, but some thought he has deters him. “Never mind. I’ll just take a nap.” 

Before heading into the bathroom, you run your fingers through his hair and scratch a bit just behind his ear. He leans into it, pushing his head into your hand with utmost care to not snag you with a branchy antler. “Sounds good,” you say. “I promise it won’t be that long. I pinky swear it.” 

Nose crinkling, he asks you, “Pinky swear?” 

You offer him your pinky. “Give me your pinky. I’ll show you.” 

When he does, you intertwine them to solidify your promise. “I pinky promise that I’ll be home soon, and celebrate the rest of New Years with you.” You press your thumbs together. “Now it’s a real promise. Okay?” 

He nods and smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Truthfully, it’s not that you want to go out that bad. You’d honestly rather be back here when it strikes twelve. But your friends insist that you go out. It’s been half a year since you’ve put yourself out there like this—you understand why they do. 

Clicking the door closed behind you, you begin to drop your home clothes off to exchange them for a new, glittering skin. You reemerge from the bathroom a creature of the night. Your eyes glitter as you blink, and your skirt is a true, daring New Year's length, and you wear the print of your nipples against your little shirt like an accessory, and you smooth your hands down the slip of soft belly between the waist band of your skirt and the hem of your tee. His eyes find each and every one of those things. 

“There’s snacks for you, and I’ll bring you home something to eat. You’ll be good here for a bit?” you say, wobbling on one kitten heel as you tug the other on. 

“Yeah,” he says, falling flat. “I’ll be good.” 

Fluffing your hair, you try and let his grumpiness roll off your shoulders. He gets like this when you leave. In just a few days, he’d grown so utterly attached to you that only the few hours away have him ruffled. You know he depends on you because you’re the only person and thing that he knows here, but... you don’t think they’re coming back to get him. Not this year, at least. And you can’t be home all day, so you need him to get used to functioning at home by himself. 

Letting your voice into something both reprimanding and playful, you look at him through your lashes and say, “See you later, Kai.” 

His eyes burn holes through you as you go. 

༄ 

Pink-cheeked with liquid bliss heavy in your veins, you step from the nippy air and into the embrace of home. You’re not drunk enough to stumble or slur; you’d left that back at the bar. Still, you feel the buzzing like static between your thoughts. 

Your heels and toes riot as you slip your feet from your heels. Should’ve brought a backup option... Kitten heels usually would’ve been enough to save your feet, but you were standing all night. You’re worn down to the bone.  

Tucking your hair back out of your face, you blink heavily through a scan of the living room and kitchen. Usually, Kai’s right here at the door waiting for you. Today, he does not. 

You frown. “Kai?” you say, projecting your voice. 

He’s not on the couch, nor in the kitchen, nor in the bathroom as you investigate. You begin to be worried, until you find him in the same place you’d left him. 

Except, now, he’s a tangle of blankets. You can’t see him. With your blanket wrapped up so tight over him, he’s just a mound on the bed. Strewn across the floor and over the bed and around him, there are a number of your clothes. Clothes that hadn’t been there when you’d left earlier. 

He shifts. Before you even say anything, he knows you’re here. He’s got some good hearing, you’ve found. And smell. 

“I’m home,” you announce, pulling the blankets off him. “You sleeping?” 

As you peel back the covers, he sits up. His hair is a mess, and his eyes are drowsy. Rather than scooting over to let you slip into bed with him, or smiling to see that you’ve gotten home, his nose twitches and he tugs his lips back in a smear of disgust. 

“What’s wrong?” you say. “Sorry for waking you up...” Gesturing around at the mess, you add, “What’s all this? My clothes are everywhere...” 

“Why do you smell like that?” he says. 

You flounder. It’s the snappiest you’ve ever heard him. “Oh...” you say, smoothing the tangles in your hair. “I... was dancing a bunch.” 

Eyes sharp and negative, he says, “No. You smell weird. I don’t like it. Like other people. You don’t smell... Like you.” 

“I don’t know...” You shrug a dismissive shoulder. “Maybe you’re smelling my friends. Does it bother you? I’ll go take a quick shower.” 

“You promised that you’d be here soon,” Kai says. When you reach an arm up to soothe his sleep-tangled hair, he avoids it with a dip. “You smell awful. Like... you don’t smell sweet, you smell like a man.” 

Still stung, you let your arm drop. It’s well past twelve. You’d broken your promise. Wincing, you sift through the memories of the night. You think maybe the closest you got to a man was a playful kiss with a friend to welcome the new year. You supposed you’d also hung around him the whole night... 

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time,” you say. It’s a bare apology; you offer him no excuses.  

Kai, shoulders stiff, does not loosen up. Emotion brims in his eyes like liquid frost. “Why am I not good enough? Why do you like him more than me?” 

You go to answer him, but you’re not sure how to. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that you’d slipped up your times, but breaking his trust was. He’d been left behind by the only thing he’s ever known, and now that he’s settled here, he thinks you’ll do just the same to him. The twitching of his lips does a terrible number on your chest.  

“Kai.” You whittle your voice into something breathy and gentle. “I’m not gonna leave you. You can stay here forever, even if they don’t come back.” You know he’s begun to realize that maybe they won’t be bringing him back home, as you have. Still in your itching skirt and smeared in a thick, going-out layer of makeup, you dip your knees into your side of the bed. “Forever. Maybe I break small promises, and I’m sorry, but I won’t break that one.” 

How had he carved the shape of himself into your heart so fast? So well? 

“I don’t want to go back there,” he says, colored thick with conviction and sullied memories. “I never want to go back there.” 

Like the weight of the world on your shoulders, your body longs to crumple under it. You lay your hair on the pillow and beckon him down, too. “Then, don’t...” you mumble. “Stay here. Forever.” You repeat the word like mantra, so that maybe he’ll let it seep into his bones and patch up the wounds left there. 

He curls up over your back, pressing his mouth into your shoulder. You’d thought the first night would be the only that he joined you in your bed, but you’ve got a tender heart. He runs warm-blooded as a creature of the snow, and you run cold. He’s a good heat source. 

That’s your excuse, anyway.  

Like all the other nights of the week he’d been here, he takes your hip in a hand and slips the other under your neck like a pillow.  

This night is the same; until his breaths quicken behind you. His frame goes rigid once more, a solid wall at your back and a big hand pinning your hip to the bed. He presses his nose to the exposed length of your neck, puffs of hot and angry breaths fanning out here and there. Like he’s caught a scent. 

“Kai?” you say into the dark of your room. It’s half a laugh, half real question. 

Your lungs stutter when the drags of his nose turn to drags of his cheek, and he’s pressing himself harder into you. That’s when you feel it: the rock-solid hardness of his cock against your ass. 

“I don’t like it,” he whines, wrapping you in him. His scent. “I don’t like that smell. Can’t sleep...” 

You have a decision to make: to go brush him off and sleep as though it were nothing, or to address the barely-there grind of his hardness against you. 

Like all of your other decisions, the one you land on is the absurd one. You push your ass back into him. He gasps, a sucking in of air, against your neck, and digs his fingers harder into your hips. He brings you back into his hips as they grow more daring. 

“Missed you so bad...” he says, sliding that one hand on your hip down so that his forearm presses into your belly. He uses that as leverage to grind against you, instead. “Missed your smell... None of your clothes smelled like you... N’ your blankets started smelling like me, too. Why did you stay away for so long? You promised. Promised...” A shuddered breath prickles the hair on your neck. “Promised, and now you smell like someone else. I hate it.” 

“Baby,” you say, reaching a hand up over your shoulder to cup his cheek. “I’m sorry. Wanna make it better? Want me to help you?” 

He whines from the chest, sitting up quick to look at you. His pupils are wide, and you know just by the look of him how much it’s been bothering him. 

“Scoot back,” you say. Your belly does a wild crash. If you were to tell yourself two weeks ago where you are now... You would’ve laughed in your face. 

Eyes glazed over and his cheeks a dusty sort of pink, he does so until his back is at the headboard. He moves with a clumsy excitement. 

You tug your skirt down your legs, kicking it off your ankles so that you can crawl over to him better. In your neck, your pulse flutters wildly. He watches you approach, and then tug his sweats down. His cock pops right out, long and pretty pink at the tip and weeping glistening tears. He hadn’t even been wearing boxers. Kai’s squeak when you brush your fingers just up the underside of it and then take it in your fist is sweet. 

“Poor baby,” you say, knitting your brows together and looking up at him through your lashes. “You waited all day for me, just for me to come home smelling like somebody else... You did so good, I think you deserve to feel good.” 

His lips glisten with his wet tongue. When he fully takes in the sight of you, face-to-face with his cock, a shudder shakes him. “I wanna...” 

Pushing his shirt up to reveal the softness of his belly, you say, “Wanna what, Kai?” You press sweet open-mouthed kisses up the dainty trail of hair just under his belly button, and then you scatter a few extra like glistening presents over his hip bones and abdomen. His chest jumps and falls with each. 

“Feel good,” he says. His length does a twitch, as if just the thought of you helping him like that was just like touch.  

You press the final kisses up his length, from the base of his cock up until your lips meld against his cockhead, right over the wet tip. Savoring the salty musk of his precum, you say, “You’re such a sweet boy. M’ sorry I made you feel bad. Want me to smell like you? Would that make you feel better?” 

He opens his mouth to say yes; you see it in his eyes. Your lips wrapping around the hot pink of his tip ruins his plans. The way he twitches his lips and shifts goes right to the hotness between your own thighs. Encouraged, and truly wanting to make up for how you’d treated him today, you release his tip and smear the mess down his length with a few pumps. As soon as each slide is slick and obscene, you turn from languid pumps to purposeful flicks of your wrist. 

Kai bucks his hips up into your fist and lolls his head back, eyes screwed shut. The digging of his teeth into his plush bottom lip is what draws your eye most, though.  

“It’s okay to make sounds if you feel good, baby,” you coo, kissing over his chest and neck. “You don’t have to be quiet around me.” You adjust your grip and change the angle of your slick jerks until one has a sound catching in his throat and a hand of his flying up to curl around your wrist. “Like that?” you ask. It’s not taunting—it’s a genuine wonder. 

It takes him a few moments, adam’s apple bobbing, but he pants a little for you finally. He nods frantically. “The....There,” he grits out. 

So, you continue to fuck him on your fist. Sometimes you stop just to collect the slow, oozing white droplets that he can’t help but produce, and sometimes you reach your fingers up to brush the hair out of his eyes to better see his glassy eyes and red cheeks. The sounds really are obscene; your ears burn red just hearing them. Your cunt throbs at it, too. 

“Feels... please—” he gets out, rustling against the headboard harder and bringing his hips up to meet your fist half way. “M’ so—happy to be here. Love you—love you! Gonna cum, can I cum? Please?” 

Stomach doing wild flips at the cracking in his voice and the tightening of his soft belly, you loosen up your strokes and try to help him toward it. “Of course. Cum, baby. Go ahead. Feels good?” 

Your wrist aches once his jaw goes tight, the muscles there twitching in the moonlight, and he spills his seed in white, sticky spurts all over his belly. His fingers go tight around your wrist when you continue to jerk his cock even as he cums, working him well through it and urging him to spurt a few more stray shots on himself with wild jerks of his hips. He heaves whines and his cock throbs beneath your fist, pretty face screwed up tight. 

“There we go,” you coo, admiring the scene of him, covered in his own seed and his bangs damp. You’re sure you smell entirely of him, now, with his mess wet and nasty over your palm.  

A parade of sweet thank you’s spill from his lips once he finds his mind again, breathy and full. You just press your cheek into his chest, feeling every frantic thump of his heart against you. Perhaps it’s a bit sappy, but all you can think to say is:  

“I’m happy you’re here, too, Kai.” 

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note TJIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING SUB IDOL AHHH. kinda nervous. can you tell? i’m not sure why, i love that shit. it’s just how the dice have rolled hehe.

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[covenofagatha]

But you're my stepmom! (Part 9)

Word count: 2100

Warnings: mommy kink, rough sex, bondage, spanking, oral, overstimulation

Taglist: @stayevildarling@i-just-cannot@hazey-g@buttercandy16@320viada@evilangels-stuff@rmaximoff@morganismspam23@aboutcustardcreams@sasheemo@rigglemethat@walkethisway@mommywandas@r-3-becca@harknessshi@ihaveawifebutwerenotmarriedyet@polaris-likethestar@ahintofchaos

You don’t hear from Agatha after that for a day and a half. 

You can’t help but feel like you did something wrong. Was it making her pull over on the side of the road because your needy cunt was begging to be filled by her cock? Was it taking her hand with yours and holding it for the rest of the drive to get pizza? She didn’t seem to mind in either moment. 

Nothing else had happened Monday night once you two had come back to the house. She had given you a chaste kiss in the car, telling you to behave, and you had. The hug you’d given her before you left for the night was the picture of appropriateness. 

Everything had been fine, so why was she icing you out like this? 

It’s sixth period on Wednesday when you finally get a response from her. 

You’re sitting in Biology, textbook standing straight on your desk to hide your phone, staring at your messages with Agatha. 

You’ve sent probably close to thirty texts since Monday night, all of them going unanswered. You were confused at first, then angry, then sad, these emotions spilling into your various messages. 

I had a really nice time with you tonight ;) 

Hey, everything okay? 

Agatha what the fuck 

I’m sorry for whatever I did, please just talk to me. 

You’re wondering if you should send another one now when suddenly, the bubble with three dots pops up. 

She’s typing. 

For the first time in a day and a half, she’s not actively ignoring you. You hold your breath, almost afraid to keep watching. 

Sorry I haven’t replied. Come over after school? 

No explanation for the radio silence. You feel bitter and debate not answering just so she gets some kind of semblance of the hell you’ve been going through. 

But it’s Agatha and she has you under her spell. You can’t imagine not obeying.

Okay. You type back. 

You get a gut feeling that tells you something is wrong. 

Fuck. Did your dad find out about you two? The thought sends your heart racing and nausea climbs into your throat. 

You tell yourself that surely your dad would’ve said something to you if he had found out that you and his wife were fucking. This rational thought helps a little bit but you know that something isn’t right. So if it’s not that, then what is it?

You completely pour over every single interaction you’ve had with Agatha and this consumes you until the last bell of the day rings. You don’t even remember walking across the hall to seventh period but you clearly must have. 

On the drive to your dad’s house, a pit grows in your stomach with every turn that brings you closer to an inevitable confrontation. You absolutely hate conflict.  

You take a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. Your palms are sweaty and your heart feels like it’s pounding in your throat. You remind yourself to breathe. 

Agatha opens the door and moves to the side to let you in. “Hey,” she says quietly. 

And that sets you off. “‘Hey?’ That’s all you’re going to say? I haven’t heard from you since Monday! I texted you like a million times and you say ‘hey?’ What the actual fuck, Agatha?” 

Pain flashes in her eyes and then it’s gone. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Things were happening, I was busy.” 

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Were you also busy when you fucked me in your bed? In your car? When I went down on you on the couch and made you cum harder than my dad ever did?” You wish you hadn’t brought up all those memories because now you’re angry and turned on. 

At the mention of your dad, she grabs your wrist with a bruising grip and drags you upstairs. She brings you into her room and shoves you against the wall with unnecessary roughness, her lips catching yours in a harsh kiss. She bites your lip so hard that your mouth fills with blood and you hate how hot you find it when she licks it off her own lips. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, seeing the black glint in her eyes. Something is off. 

But she doesn’t answer, only slides her hand up to clasp your throat. Your breath hitches in spite of yourself and her eyes darken. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes,” you say without thinking. You know you shouldn’t let her touch you until she explains herself, but you are too desperate to feel her hands on you again. Her face lights up in a wicked way and she leads you to the bed and shoves you down so your stomach is on the bed, ass in the air. She flips your skirt up and you shiver at the cold air on your bottom. 

You can almost hear her grin as she slides her fingers up and down your covered slit. It’s embarrassing how wet you’ve become from her practically manhandling you. 

“Good,” she says and her hand cracks down on your ass. You gasp and lurch forward on the bed, the sting clearing all the thoughts in your head. 

“Fuck!” 

Her hand tangles in your hair and she pulls you up so your back is now flush against her front. “Count for me,” she whispers lowly in your ear and then lets you go so you fall back onto the bed. 

“One,” you say weakly. 

She spanks you again and your hands grapple with the bed sheets. 

“Two.” 

Again. 

“Three.” The pain has started bleeding into pleasure and you begin slowly rocking your hips against the bed to release some of the tension building between your legs. 

“Ah, ah,” she tuts, hands grabbing your waist, holding you still. Her fingers dig into the skin and you inhale sharply. “Don’t move.” 

“Mommy,” you beg, panting for more. You have to tense your muscles so you don’t start grinding again after she slaps you again. “Four.” 

“Almost done, sweetheart,” she coos, rubbing her hands on your ass cheeks, soothing the burn. Agatha literally has to peel your underwear off because of how wet you are. She then spreads your thighs even more and takes in the sight of you. “Oh, baby, you like this a lot, don’t you? You’re dripping onto the bed.”

You keen and nod your head pathetically. 

“Last one. You’re being such a good girl for mommy.” 

You arch your back in preparation, but this time, she smacks her hand straight on your pussy, fingers landing directly on your clit. You cum from just the bit of stimulation with a guttural moan and she watches in awe as your body contorts. 

“Five,” you say weakly, once you’ve come down from your wave of pleasure, just in case she wants you too. She laughs and flips you over, not giving you any time to recover before burying her head between your legs. Your back shoots off the bed and your hands immediately find purchase in her hair when her tongue gives you a filthy lick but she stops. 

“No touching,” she warns. 

“But, mommy!” you protest. 

She stands up and walks to her nightstand, your cunt cold against the air now that she’s not near you. 

Agatha pulls something out and walks back over to you. “Move to the top of the bed,” she instructs. You do without hesitation. She climbs on top of you, showing you the two lines of rope that were behind her back. You whimper involuntarily. “Are you okay with this?” 

“Yes,” you rasp, too quickly and she chuckles evilly. She leans down to give you a quick peck on the lips and then she makes quick work of tying you to the bed banisters. 

“Not too tight?” She checks and you move your wrists experimentally. You feel like with the right amount of force, you could free yourself if you needed to. 

“They’re good,” you say, voice clouded with lust. “Can you–” And then you stop, unsure if it’s okay to ask. 

“What do you want, baby girl?” Her fingers stroke your thighs reassuringly. 

“Canyoufuckmewithyourcock,” you spit out. She raises an eyebrow, silently prodding you to slow down. You try again, forcing yourself to pause after each word. “Can you fuck me with your cock?” 

She groans out loud. “Such a good girl, using your words like that. Since you took my spanking so well, I think I can arrange that.” She goes back to the same drawer where the restraints were and pulls out her harness and strap. She shimmies out of her pants and hastily gets ready for you. Your hips have started undulating ever so slightly in anticipation. 

She climbs back on the bed, rubs her strap-on against your opening to lube it up, and then slowly pushes in. You immediately feel better with the fullness, your anxiety at Agatha’s weird silence the last few days ebbing away. She gives you a second to adjust to the size and then starts fucking you like an unhinged woman. 

She snaps her hips with every fast thrust, pulling a strangled noise out of you each time. You’re both panting with the exertion and one of her hands finds your throat again. She squeezes and your cunt clenches around her cock, making it harder for her to move. 

“Mommy, fuck, yes,” you sob, the pleasure making you lightheaded. All of your senses are completely overridden by her. All you can feel is Agatha and you wish more than anything you could touch her. But being tied up and completely at her mercy is driving you absolutely crazy. “I’m so close.” 

You can feel her smirking against your skin where she’s leaving bite marks and then soothing the spots with her lips. She keeps fucking you just right. 

“Don’t cum yet,” she says, voice gruff. You whine and she grabs your chin with the hand that was around your throat and turns it roughly so you’re making eye contact with her. “Who do you belong to?” 

She picks up the intensity of her thrusts, if possible. You’re teetering on the edge. “You, mommy, only you!” You wail. 

“Good girl,” she purrs. “Cum for me.” As if you’d be able to stop yourself. 

Your second orgasm hits you much more intensely and you can’t stop chanting her name as she fucks you through it. Your mind goes blank for a second in the bliss. 

She pulls out slowly, leaving a gaping emptiness inside you. It doesn’t stay that way for long, though, because after she takes the strap and harness off and throws them across the room, Agatha moves down the bed and thrust her tongue into you. She sucks your clit into her mouth and you gasp at the stimulation. It’s too much as she eats you out with renewed fervor.  

“Mommy, fuck,” you mewl and strain your wrists against the ties. “It hurts.” 

She pauses for a moment to look up at you through hooded eyelashes. “You can give me one more, can’t you?” 

You nod meekly and she grins, diving back between your folds. It doesn’t take much for her to coax you back to the edge and a few minutes later, you’re crying out her name when you cum for the third time, her hot mouth knowing exactly what to do to make you scream. 

You wince as she gives you one last lick and then she climbs up to pull you into a deep kiss. Her tongue moves into your mouth with raw hunger and you go to put your hands around her before you remember that you’re tied up. Agatha notices that you’re struggling and smirks before untying you. You move your stiff arms around to get the blood flow back. 

“How was that?” Agatha murmurs. 

“Really good,” you answer honestly. Your brow furrows. “Are you okay? You seem a little off.” 

She doesn’t say anything, just lies down on her back on the bed. She motions at you and you cuddle against her body, head resting on her shoulder. Her arm comes around you and you draw soft patterns on her stomach, enjoying the feeling of her warm skin. 

You almost forget that you asked her anything and you’re about to drift off to sleep when she whispers, “Your father is having an affair.” 

[luveline]

you can ignore me for the rest of time and I will still dutifully show up to read your work every day ~ can I request some angsty bombshell x spencer? maybe their first actual fight and spence snaps at her so bombshell r crying and locks herself in their room and he apologizes through the door but still sleeps on the couch and she comes and snuggles in the middle of the night and forgives him bc she can’t sleep? this is so self indulgent pls feel free to change anything you want love you jade

thank u for requesting! —spencer makes you cry. fem, 1k

Spencer can’t stand hearing you cry. He can’t believe he’s the one who caused it —he didn’t mean to, he just got so annoyed at you, everything’s difficult lately now you’ve moved in together permanently because you practically living at his apartment is apparently not the same as truly living with one another. 

He knows neither of you are unhappy living together, but you haven’t fought before, not like this. He stands just outside the bedroom door where you’ve sequestered yourself, ashamed of making you this upset. He doesn’t let himself in. “Y/N?” 

“Go away, Spencer,” you say. To your credit, you try to sound calmer than you are. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far. Please don’t cry.” 

“Spencer,” you say, a line of anger darkening your words, “leave me alone.” 

He shouldn’t have said you were being lazy. You aren’t lazy, you’re tired. Moving in together has been really hard on you, even if you won’t admit it, or show it externally. He just wanted to say something mean, because you’d said you allowed him to have that ugly armchair in the living room and he got mad —it’s not ugly, and he wasn’t allowed, he’s a grown man. 

He just can’t feel angry about it anymore hearing your sad sniffling. He said something too mean, he took it too far, and maybe he was ‘allowed’. Moving in together is about compromise, and you’d compromised, and he’s punishing you for it. 

“I’m sorry, angel. I didn’t mean to make you cry, I– I was being mean and you didn’t deserve that. I’ll be out here if you… if you wanna talk to me,” he says, turning to leave with his head held low. 

He waits all night for you to come out, if it were just to drink some water or use the bathroom, but after a few minutes he can’t hear you crying, and you don’t make any sounds. He thinks he might hear you moving the sheets aside some time toward 10PM, but there’s nothing after that. He falls asleep on the couch, sulking, wishing he hadn’t been such an idiot. 

You let yourself out of your shared bedroom in the middle of the night. The sheets don’t smell enough like him, and you want to hold his hand, and you want to know he’s really not mad at you. That he doesn’t really think you’re lazy. 

Quiet, you walk downstairs and into the living room, where Spencer sleeps stretched out on the couch. It’s a big couch, meant for soft sitting, wide enough that, were you to set a baby down, they couldn’t roll off accidentally. Spencer’s on his side with his arm curled around one of the bigger pillows, brown strands of hair falling into his face.

He’s not a deep sleeper, but you can’t say you’re scared to wake him. You pull the pillow from his arms and sit on the couch beside him, working your way into his side, and encouraging his arm over yours. Gentle, you brush the mess of his hair from his eyes. He doesn’t even have a blanket.

You hold his sleeping face in your hands. His eyes twitch and scrunch tighter at your touching, worried, but you give a gentle, “Shh,” and he relaxes. His eyes smooth, then open, lashes struggling apart, the brown of his eyes dark as a roasted chestnut. 

He whispers your name, tongue heavy with sleep. 

“Mm,” you reply, tucking his hair behind his ears. 

“You okay?” he whispers. 

You press your face to his neck, letting yourself deflate as you wait for his arms to lock you in. It can’t be five seconds before he’s curling his arms around you carefully, kissing your hairline, the first bit of skin he can reach at this angle. He’s not quite awake yet, you know, can tell from countless times sleeping in his bed. If he were to fall back to sleep, he wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. 

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper.

“Oh,” he says, with all the tenderness of a pet name, dripping, palpable adoring, “want tea?” 

“Want you.” 

He strokes your shoulder. You’re the one being hugged, really, but Spencer’s grip gets so tight you worry he needs one. You wrap your arms behind him, close your eyes tight to stop from getting teary. 

“I don’t like fighting,” you say. 

“M’sorry.” 

“Do you want to kiss and make up?” 

He stills. “You’re not mad?” 

“You really upset me, Spence. N’ I bet you know that n’ feel bad enough already,” you mumble. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was being childish.” 

You forgive him. Everybody’s allowed to be mean every once in a while. You’d been arguing, and you can feel now that he regrets it, his hands apprehensive but somehow loving still as they touch your back through the thin fabric of a t-shirt he’d bought you. The front has a silly graphic on it, some equation that spells out love. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I’m not mad. I can’t sleep when you’re not next to me, so… Let’s not fight again.” 

“I don’t like it when you cry.” 

You shake your head gently, slotting yourself into all his nooks and crevices. Your legs tangled, the couch is an ample bed for two people trying to be as close to each other as humanly possible. You don’t like crying either, not over Spencer, not thinking he doesn’t see you in the light you’d thought he did. 

“Do you really think I’m lazy?” you ask. 

“No, I was being awful,” he says, sounding deeply repentant. 

Well, there’s no need to punish him, you decide, not when he’s beating himself up already. You cup the back of his head to tap your foreheads together, any aches and pains of the bed disappearing in the eye of his softness. He’s gaining confidence now you’ve touched his hair, his hands travelling low to the small of your back, your face once again pushed into the curve of his neck, where you stay. 

[irndad]

Hi, I’m so sorry, I searched for request guidelines and must be missing them so if this isn’t something you write I apologize-

Flower prompt heliotrope with Spencer where reader sacrifices herself/or gets shot to save Maeve so Spencer can be happy, even though she’s hopelessly in love with him. 🥹

Little angst, little fluff. You can decide if reader fully sacrifices or just gets really badly hurt and how Spencer reacts.

my dear!! there are no rules yet- i have things i won't fill but thus far the onus has been on me to clarify. i had so much fun writing this- thank you for requesting it!!! requests r open :^) wc: 1.1k

“Is Maeve okay?”

It’s the first thing she says when she wakes up from her hospital bed. Spencer’s shaking, a little woozy too. It turns out that they have the same blood type, and she lost a whole fucking lot of it. He’d been happy to give it to her, although ‘happy’feels like the wrong word to use in this situation. 

She had internal bleeding, and collapsed harshly from the gunshot, scuffing her forehead so badly she needed stitches. Comparatively, it’s the least of her worries, but still- Spencer can’t stop staring at it. She’s literally marred by the choice she made to protect him. 

Maeve is okay. She’s in the same hospital, but Spencer’s spent about ten minutes with her- the rest of the last 12 hours of his life were spent oscillating between donating blood and praying to a deity he’s not sure exists. 

She’d survived. They’d both survived. He should feel relieved- why doesn’t he feel relieved?

It’s a stupid question that he keeps asking himself. Two of the most important people in his life are alive, but still in the moment, her blood spilling over him- the gasp of her breath when the bullet hit her- He’s going to remember the sound of it forever, what it sounded like for her to almost die for someone else. He hates that she’s the type of person to do it. To jump in front of a loaded gun for a woman she’s never met before. 

He’s mad at her. He has no right to be- he gets a chance with Maeve now, and that’s all due to the choice she made. And yet- he’s so, so angry at her. Because she could be dead right now. He could never, ever talk to her again. She made a choice that meant that he might have never been able to hear her voice, do a magic trick for her, ever, ever be near her again. How the fuck could she do that to him?

“Yes,” he replies, “she’s okay.”

She nods agreeably, before wincing at what appeared to be an intense ache at her temples. 

“My head hurts,” she says, her voice low and endearing, and his heart roars with protectiveness. “Do you think I could have a juice box?”

She’s so sweet- he wants to laugh, in a sad desperate kind of way. This is his favorite person in the world, sitting up shakily and asking for juice, clearly groggy and so endearing. He almost lost her. 

“You’re okay too,” he says, “If you’re wondering. You scared us. You had internal bleeding and a concussion. You lost a lot of blood.”

It’s only then she frowns. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she pouts, trying to sit up and speak to him. “But it all worked out, Spence. She’s okay.”

“It didn’t all work out!” Her eyes widen at his outburst, and he feels like scum. Yelling at her when she’s in a hospital bed, taking a bullet so he’d have a chance at romance. 

“You said she’s okay,” she says back, slowly. “I don’t understand.”

“You lost blood. You almost died. That is not it working out. You have to tell me you understand that.” He doesn’t know why he’s being so harsh, but he also doesn’t know why he has to explain this to her. 

“I know,” she sighs, “I know. But this is the job, and I didn’t have time to get a vest on!”

“Then you wait. You wait. You don’t just burst in-“

“And you would’ve lost the love of your life!”

“What makes you think she’s the love of my life?”

A nurse shuffles by the room and Spencer takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to be kicked out of her room, and on some level he knows how crazy it is to be yelling at a gunshot victim. He pinches his nose, eyes winced in frustration. 

She’s been his favorite person by a wide margin for an incredibly long time. She joined the team as a consultant and he remembers the first time he did a card trick for her- the first time he’d fallen asleep on her shoulder. He was so grateful to know her. Still is. In this moment, knowing feels like time slipping out from an hourglass- like it was almost numbered. Their time was almost finished. 

Maeve was lovely. Maeve listened and she was kind and Spencer really did like her. He’s glad she’s safe, now. But his best friend, his coworker and favorite person- Spencer thought everyone could tell that he’s been in love with the team consultant since the first week he knew her. 

Everything he liked about Maeve reminded him of her. 

And she’d jumped in front of a bullet for someone she thought he was in love with. And fuck, maybe he did love her in some way- but whatever ‘in love’ meant with Maeve, this sorrow, the pain of knowing she’d almost been someone he’d have to remember was far, far deeper. 

“You’ve never mentioned anyone to me romantically. I’ve known you for years, Spencer. She’s important to you.”

Maeve is. She was. It’s all so confusing now. He has liked someone for years, though. He couldn’t tell her, though. Maeve was a welcome distraction from a love he thought was wholly impractical and impossible to love him back— a love that now he has to witness languish in a hospital bed. 

Morgan knew. Morgan would tease him every time Spencer drew a smiley face in purple marker on her coffee cup. He would tell him to just ask her out, and it had always felt so improbable. She’d never go for someone as lanky and uncharismatic as him. 

“You’re important to me.” 

She has no idea how much. 

Her eyes soften at that, and not for the first time, he wants to curl into her arms. He wants to lay next to her in the hospital bed, and feel her pulse beat against bare skin. Feel her pulse and with every beat know that she is alive. 

“I know that, Spence,” she breathes out.

Even though it’s not kosher, not necessarily the right thing to do when your not-girlfriend/girl you went on one date with is in the same hospital, but when his best friend opens up her arms for a hug, he ends up doing exactly what he wanted. 

The team finds her asleep in her hospital bed, with Spencer asleep in her arms. It feels voyeuristic to look at, but Spencer really, really couldn’t care. 

He resolved to tell her that he loves her as soon as she’s healed. With the way Morgan side eyes him every time he ‘helps’ her walk across a room by holding her waist, he’s not sure he’ll last that long. 

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Too Far.

Summary: He's like a wounded animal when he's angry, lashing out when he feels cornered. He's gone too far this time, snapped and said something he definitely didn't mean, so now he has to fix it.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Fighting. Daryl is a dick, but not really, but also he is. Apologetic!Daryl. Alexandria Era. Sex.

A/N: Inspired by an excellent post by @love-norman which I'll link in the comments. I wasn't sure if you were okay with smut, so there's a fairly brief mention of sex but nothing overly explicit.

-

He’s a surprisingly effective communicator, once she can convince him to talk more and with enough time to work out exactly what ticks and grunts mean what. Daryl Dixon’s entire bag is self-sacrifice, so if he can assume that she needs him to tell her what’s going on in the always too busy head of his, he can do that for her without much care for how it impacts him. It’s not his most healthy coping mechanism but it certainly isn’t his worst and the reward? Oh, the reward is sweet. The reward is comfort and kindness and being held; being loved. What’s a moment of discomfort for a lifetime of her?

He's had to practice letting his walls down, slowly but surely since he met her, all the while failing to realise she was just digging her way underneath them. She didn’t ever pry, not really, not in any way that felt invasive, but she’d patiently wait him out; ask the question quietly, softly, and let him linger in the comfortable silence until he chose to answer back. Sometimes she’d work out the information without his need to speak at all; it happened the moment he realised he was fucked, that he was absolutely, irrefutably hers. She’d worked out exactly who he was as a person and he’d barely sad a word.

He’s attentive, and whilst that shocks him it comes as no surprise to anyone around him. He has spent his life fearing that he is exactly who he feared, but those who are lucky enough to consider themselves, correctly or not, close to Daryl never fear for much but his wellbeing. That he is a careful, thoughtful and tender partner surprises nobody but him. That’s not to say they don’t argue, the end of the world comes with its own set of tensions even without the usual relationship concerns, but he’s learnt not to bite first.

-

He shouldn’t have drunk anything, in hindsight, they’re both in bad shape, overwrought and under-fed and they shouldn’t have been at a fucking party, of all places. He definitely shouldn’t have had the four glasses of scotch Reg offered him on a mostly empty stomach. He can’t get used to the Alexandria walls, the houses he never could have afforded to breathe near let alone buy, the soft comforts he’d never had even before the end of the world. He’s never been to a party that hasn’t had a piss-stained couch or an overly full ashtray.

“You know that’s bullshit, Daryl, you’re being ridiculous!” She yells, firmly back in their own living room after he’d practically stormed out of Deanna’s. One minute they’re in full swing, standing talking about vacations from the old days with some new faces, the next his hand is dropping from around her waist and thudding from the front door like she’d said, ‘fuck off’ rather than the word ‘Canada’. He’d slammed the door behind them and snarled about how he would have embarrassed her and her fancy fucking vacations in ‘the real world’.

“Lil’ miss travel abroad and see th’ world cause she’s better than Daryl fuckin’ Dixon”

“What? That’s not-“

“I’m jus’ an idiot redneck with nothin’ an’ you’re this smart chick who saw the world, I get it, I ain’t dumb, th’ fuck would ya have wanted wit’ me?”

Her heart would shatter for him if she wasn’t seething quite so much, the sheer desperation in his words at odds with the tension in his body, clenched hands dragging through his finally clean hair. His eyes are stinging and he absolutely refuses to cry, has never gotten over thinking it makes him weak even when he feels weak.

“Daryl, what the fuck? Why are you being such an asshole?“

“Shut up, always yappin’ about stupid shit, fuckin’ hate ya sometimes!”

He turns quickly, wants to throw something, wants to scream, broad shoulders and harsh angles and all the wind leaves his body when he sees her flinch away from him. She’s cowers backwards, he feels like he’s going to be sick, body collapsing in on itself as he feels the anger leave his bones, replaced with ice laced panic. For a second, a horrifying second that feels ten times as long, he’s his old man. Shitfaced and angry with a glass in hand and if he had a mirror, he knows exactly whose face he’d see staring back at him.

“I would never hurt ya” he whispers, voice low and so broken, full of conviction as his breath hitches in the middle and crumbles at the end and she’d hug him if she wasn’t so shell shocked. Neither of them move for a beat, standing stock still as he trails his eyes over her, clocks the way her gaze refuses to lift to meet his. He can’t breathe. The room is too small for everything he’s feeling, like the walls are inching close and closer and the air is getting less. He tries to move like lightning but his whole body feels sluggish and slow as he inches past her and out the front door, flinching as it closes behind him and he wanders out into the street. He stares back at the house for a moment before deciding he needs a walk to clear his head.

When he comes back she’s sitting on the couch waiting for him, thumbs twiddling, head still down and worry eating her alive. He eases the door shut behind him, loud enough to tell her he’s home but soft enough to show he’s not mad. He wishes a door could convey remorse but it’s taken him long enough to be able to do it with words he doubts a block of wood would be able to in the timeframe he needs. He shucks off his boots, realising he shouldn’t have been wearing them in the house in the first place.

The fresh air has cooled his body enough that he feels less of the alcohol circulating around his system. He tries not to squeeze the flowers he’d plucked from the bush outside Aaron’s place as he stands with his back against the wood.

“’M sorry” he whispers before clearing his throat and repeating it at a higher volume. She turns her face towards him, looking at him over her shoulder. The anger is gone from her face, replaced with a dwelling worry that spikes at him, makes him replay his words over and over.

“What did I do?”

“Nothin’” he insists quickly, pauses before he realises he should say more, that she sometimes needs him to say more, they’ve talked about this “Ya didn’t, I promise”

“I’m sorry”

That does it, rips him from his safe haven by the door because he can’t stand the thought that she deserved anything he said to her, that she’d said anything wrong when he knows she hadn’t. Talking at a party, about stupid old-world stuff whilst her spare, wine glass free hand kept his back warm. She hadn’t said a damn thing wrong, and he’d scared her.

He strides over to the couch, coming round to kneel in front of her. He places the somewhat squashed flowers on the couch cushion next to her. He hovers a hand above her knee, placing it gently on the fabric of her dress when she doesn’t flinch away at the sight. He doesn’t want her to flinch ever again.

“Dun’ apologise to me when ya ain’t done nothin’ wrong”

“I’m so-“

“Dun’ ever apologise to me when i’s my fault. ‘S my shit an’ I shouldn’t take it out on ya”

She knows he loves her, has proven it time and time again, has put his body in front of hers in the face of almost certain death, would protect her with his last breath, would love her with it. But she knows she’ll never be able to unhear it, that some things you can’t take back, that she’ll always wonder, just a little bit if its true. Logic and love are very rarely intertwined.

“Okay”

He can still hear his fathers words ringing in his head, he knows, more than most, the power that words hold over people. He tries not to say anything he doesn’t mean, and he’ll admit he’s acerbic, pointed sure but never cruel, never unnecessarily unkind. He doesn’t know why tonight was different, but he takes her hands in his, locking his eyes on her so she understands.

“I dun’ get t’ speak t’ ya like that”

“No, you don’t” she agrees, voice firmer, back to her usual tone, the one he’s always loved going hand in hand with the certainty she can hold her own. She pauses, bringing his hands up to press a kiss to his knuckles, soothing because she’s terrified that after all this time, he’s still going to break them by thinking he’s not allowed to claim his hurt “You alright?”

He doesn’t answer, instead sitting back on his feet, raising a small hopeful smile at her.

“Tell me about th’ vacation”

“I don’t-“

“Please. Ya said ya still think ‘bout Canada all th’ time”

He really does want to know, he hadn’t been outside of Georgia before everything went down, and she’s mentioned travel but Canada hadn’t come up; he’s not sure if it was that, that set him off or that he felt inadequate in a room full of people with experiences he never got to have.

“I think it was my favourite trip. Packed a bag and went alone on a whim, found a lake in the forest with a little cabin. Just mountains and trees and lakes. It’s the most peaceful I’ve ever felt. I never wanted to mention it, I know you missed out on so much, but then everyone was talking and I-“

“Nah, go on, ‘S’alright”

“When Reg asked…I was going to say that’s what I picture, when I think of life outside of all of this, me and you in Canada”

“Ya think of that with me?” his voice is low, incredulous awe pulled tight at the edges, he was so busy feeling less than everyone else that he’d missed out on the fact she was thinking of him. She nods, smiling at him, working it out without him needing to say it, figuring out what drove him to snap without asking, under his walls and right in the centre of the internal world he’s built.

“We’d have a house, out near a lake with a wooden porch, and a dog, big scruffy one who likes to catch fish. We’d have coffee together overlooking the water in the morning. You’d work at the local garage, ‘cause you’re good with your hands and tools, wouldn’t have to deal with people all day, fix up all the bikes you’d secretly want...”

He’s staring her at in silence, watching her wistful face glow in the lamplight, he can barely breathe let alone find words knowing that she’s not just dreamt about a life with him, she’s thought it out in detail. He wants it, wants that life with her so badly it aches, thinks it’s the first time he’s wanted anything from life except to get through it.

“I’d work at the bar, play guitar at crappy open mic nights and you’d come for a beer after my shift to walk me home”

He hums, all the response he can manage, guilt chewing at him from the inside, clawing at his mind knowing that he’s taken his own problems out on her, told her he hates her all the while she’s dreaming of something so utterly fucking perfect.

“We’d make dinner together and dance in the living room, go camping at the weekends and make love all night long”

“In another life?” he chuckles, warm and full, knowing he’ll dream about this for the rest of his life.

“In every life…If you’d find me”

“I’d find ya”

-

He runs her a bubble bath, still amazed and confused that he can, that they’ve spent months on the road starving and struggling and here there’s a pantry that has bubble bath. The flowers from Aarons front garden are perched in a glass of water by the bed, the lamps turned off and the doors are locked up as tight as they can be. He’s insistent that he shows his apology, but he’s never had a way to do it outside these walls, nothing beyond words and affection and his experience with what women might like is limited at best.

He stands in the doorway, watching as she wraps herself in a dressing gown. He wonders idly if the amount of love he feels for her could kill him; he feels it so deeply in his bones that he physically isn’t sure it should be able to fit inside of one person. He feels it explode warmth around his body when she shuffles forward to rest her head on his chest.

“You know you don’t have to do all of this? I’m not mad”

Later, when he’s apologised again, reassured her and comforted her and she’s convinced him he’s worth loving in return, he takes them both to bed. Touches her with soft, repentant hands that have always been gentle, hands that are gentle exactly because he knows how dangerous they can be. Atonement seeping from every inch of him as he inches home inside of her, cherishes the contended sigh she lets out at the feel of him. He could never hate her, not even if he tried.

He stills when he bottoms out, rests his forehead against hers as her hips press against his firmly, dragging him as deep as he can go.

“Wha’ ya see in me, anyway?” he whispers against her lips, full of self-doubt.

She looks into him with an intensity that almost hurts, brings her hands to the sides of his face, makes sure he believes her as sincerely as she believes his apology.

“Everything”

[happy74827]

Late Night Serenity

[Harvey Specter x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Harvey doesn’t particularly let out his feelings much, so when you get a call in the middle of the night, completely unannounced, it’s safe to say you’re there within a heartbeat.

WC: 1134

Category: Slight Angst, Comfort

I wrote this at 3am after watching an edit... yeah, not my brightest moment. But hey, this beauty came out of it :)

『••✎••』

“Harvey…?” You spoke into the phone, a little concerned as to why he called you at such a late hour. You were already in bed and about to fall asleep.

There was a short silence before he answered, almost as if he was waiting for the right words.

Finally, he replied, and you heard the slight hesitation in his voice, the uncertainty, and the exhaustion.

"Yeah?"

You were instantly on alert, but you made your voice calm and soft so he wouldn't hear your worry. "Is everything okay? Do you need me to come over?"

There was another pause, this one longer than the first. Your worry increased. You sat up, already pulling on a sweater, trying to get ready to go to Harvey's.

"No. No, it's alright. I just wanted to hear your voice. Sorry to wake you."

Your mind raced, trying to decipher Harvey's words and the hidden meaning behind them. His tone wasn't right; it was too quiet and too sad, nothing like the normal cocky, self-assured, sometimes slightly arrogant tone.

"You didn't wake me. Is something wrong, Harvey?"

You heard him sigh, then the sound of a door shutting and the muffled sounds of the city streets. He must have stepped out of his office, maybe gone outside.

"No. Everything is fine; It's okay. Go back to bed."

He didn't sound okay. In fact, he sounded a bit upset, though not like he was angry, more like he was frustrated.

You slipped on your shoes and coat, grabbed your keys and wallet, and quietly opened the door.

"Where are you? Home? I'll meet you there."

"What? No, no, that's not-"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Wait for me, okay? Don't go anywhere."

You could almost hear him frown through the phone. "I can't ask you to do that. You don't have to.”

"Harvey," you interrupted him again. "I'm coming, alright? See you soon."

You hung up before he could protest more and drove as fast as you could to his apartment.

Once you arrived, you saw that Harvey was waiting for you outside. He looked exhausted and was staring up at the sky, his hands in his pockets. He was still in his work suit but had taken off his tie and jacket, leaving his top few buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up.

"Harvey?"

He jumped slightly and looked over at you. The moment he saw you, he relaxed and gave a half smile, but you could tell he was still worried.

“Hey, Bumblebee,” His nickname for you. You had told him how you hated bees when you were younger and had a fear of being stung, and ever since, he had called you Bumblebee, telling you that you were the cutest little bumblebee. It was definitely meant to be teasing, but somehow, the way he said it was never mean or rude, and you secretly loved it no matter how much you’d deny it.

“What was it? Mike?” You guessed, referring to Harvey's associate, whom he had taken under his wing a while back. Harvey shook his head.

"Jessica, actually."

You raised an eyebrow.

"She found out and wants me to fire him. But I can't, I just can't, not now."

"I’m sorry, Harv, but you knew it was a risk, right? She had to have found out eventually.”

"Yeah, I know, I just thought maybe... maybe I wouldn't have to, and we could figure something out. He’s got so much potential.”

Harvey looked down and sighed. He looked so tired, but you knew his mind was racing, always trying to find a way to fix things. He had been working with Mike for a while now, and even though he would never admit it, you knew Harvey cared about him and had grown attached to his presence.

And when Harvey gets attached, he hates to lose.

Your hands found his arms, and you squeezed gently, trying to reassure him. You had done this plenty of times in the past, and you knew it worked.

"Look at me," you told him, and he did. His dark brown eyes met yours, and you were almost startled by the amount of emotion in them. He was always good at hiding how he felt, but you could see through his mask, and you saw how upset he was.

"You’ll figure it out; you always do. And even if somehow you don't, it's not the end of the world. He could always… you know, actually, go to law school."

Harvey laughed quietly, and the sound warmed your heart. He was finally relaxing, slowly calming down.

"No, that's not an option," he replied.

"Right. I forgot how stubborn you both are."

You smiled, and Harvey smiled back. He had the most wonderful smile, the kind that always made you happy no matter what was happening.

"I'm glad you came," Harvey said, taking a step closer. His hands found your waist, and yours reached up to wrap around his neck. You could feel the warmth from his body through your clothes, and you leaned in, resting your head against his chest.

"Me too. Especially when you’re in a mellow mood," you teased. Harvey chuckled and rubbed your back. “That's rare."

"Hey," Harvey replied, feigning offense. "I'm not always a dick, you know."

"About eighty percent of the time," you grinned, looking up at him. Harvey's smile faded, and his eyes locked on yours, gazing at you with a certain intensity that made your breath catch.

You stared at each other for a few moments, neither one of you moving, until Harvey suddenly leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, his hand cupping your cheek and the other wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you against him.

The kiss was slow and sweet but full of all the emotions that neither of you could say. There was no rush, no desperate passion or need, just the two of you together.

After a while, Harvey pulled away but kept his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

He didn’t say anything, but you knew exactly what he was thinking. You had spent enough time with him to be able to read him perfectly.

Thank you.

Thank you for being here.

Thank you for caring.

Thank you for being mine.

You reached up and kissed his nose.

"Love you," you whispered.

"I know," Harvey replied. His lips turned up into a smirk, and you rolled your eyes, trying to act annoyed but not doing a very good job of it.

“You’re proving my point, Harv.”

Harvey shrugged. "But you love me anyway, right?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I really do."

“Good,” His lips brushed against yours, and his smile was still there, but his eyes were serious. “Glad to know we feel the same way.”

[pepperyduck]

deadbeat - toji fushiguro

synopsis: too stupid and selfish for anything good to happen.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: angst, toji is an ass, marriage problems, arguements, pregnancy, like two paragraphs of smut, rushed relationships, ooc toji (probably), really bad writing, a bunch of timeskips cuz i'm lazy. (18+ mdni!)

notes: yeah this one is ass but i just wanted to make something sad/angry. much love! send me requests i'm begging </3.

edit: you can find pt. 2 here.

masterlist

 toji sits on a random bench downtown. he’s thinking. he thinks he’s too self-absorbed. and he’s rude, too rude for anyone to befriend him in a genuine way. he wishes he could change. toji’s left everyone in his life behind at some point. he gets overwhelmed sometimes, seeing all the people around him that more than likely have someone or something that keeps them going.

what does toji have? nothing. and it’s his own fault, too. he only has a stubbornness to him that won’t let him die. his mind is the only thing that keeps him going.

and then he sees you.

you plop down on the same bench, not next to him, but only a few feet away, rummaging through your bag to find something. you’re determined, not focused on the big scary man next to you. but to toji; you’re the first person in years that has sat next to him. he stares at you, as you still search for that something in your bag – your keys, toji sees you grab your keys. you look back up, finding toji staring at you, and he doesn’t break the contact with his eyes, he only continues to stare.

“are…you okay…?” you ask the man, giving him an awkward smile, “i’m sorry if i bothered you.”

once you speak, toji shakes his head, “no, no…you’re fine. i was just thinking,” toji says. you notice his gruff tone, yeah, it fits the way he looks perfectly. he’s muscular, and has dark, dark hair that matches the midnight sky with no stars. there’s also a bored look on his face, his eyes stay half-lidded, and his mouth sits in a natural frown. but he’s handsome, you think. very handsome. but it’s almost in an unconventional way – the scarring on his lips and overall structure of his face is like none other you’ve seen before.

call it love at first sight, call it whatever you want. but you felt a certain need for this man.

“thinking about what?” you ask, in an attempt to talk to him.

toji shakes his head again, “nothing important.”

you think that he probably has no interest in you, maybe you really did catch him off guard when you sat down next to him. but toji is thinking about how he’s never seen anyone like you, too, and he’s never had anyone willingly sit next to him and try to conversate. he thinks he’s too intimidating, and he is, to pretty much anyone else.

but you – you don’t get that from him. all you see is a possibly lonely, pretty man.

“what’s your name?” you question him again, cocking your head to the side.

“mm…toji,” he says, hesitantly.

“toji…” you repeat after him, mentally repeating his name over and over as to not forget it. toji can’t peel his eyes away from your lips as you mouth his name a couple times, the way they perfectly made an “o” shape for the letter in his name.

“uhm,” toji croaks, an unfamiliar feeling of nervousness in his chest, “what’s your name?”

when you tell him your name, toji sighs in relief. he’d always found it hard to have normal conversations, outside of those he had for work purposes, but this…this wasn’t so hard. he hadn’t wished to meet someone again in forever. but he wished now that he would see you again, even if it was passing on the street. toji hangs his head down, not knowing what to say anymore. these are difficult, odd, never-visited-before feelings for him.

maybe it was love at first sight for him, too. he doesn’t really know. not yet, at least.

“toji,” you repeat his name once more, and he lifts his head to look at you, “can i have your number, or something?” if you wanted to catch toji off guard, now, this is the way to do it.

toji’s mouth drops open slightly, “uh- sure,” he mutters, and he’s unable to stare at you anymore. you hand him an old receipt and a pen you kept in your bag, and he tries his hardest to remember the number of his apartment phone.

eventually, he writes it down, and you notice his penmanship definitely needs some work. nonetheless, you smile at toji, this time more genuine rather than awkward, and tell him you have to get going. toji only stares once more as you walk away, disappearing into the crowded sidewalk, his eyes linger on you for as long as possible.

toji was lonely. so, so pathetically lonely until you showed up.

“would you want to, like…see each other again?” you ask a drunk toji over the phone. his phone cord is stretched all the way over the counter in his apartment to the couch, where he lazily laid, buzzed, and talking to you.

silence is heard on the other side of the phone for a couple seconds.

“…sure,” toji replies, and you don’t know, but he feels like he could throw up.

however, with you making all the plans, a “date” is finally planned in a couple of weeks. neither one of you is too sure what to call it. but by normal, societal standards, yes, you and him were going to go on a date.

you have phone conversations every so often as the remaining days pass. usually, it’s you calling him. that’s only because he thinks your life is too busy for someone like him. he doesn’t even know why someone like you is even talking to him.

toji will keep his insecurities under wraps for now, though. only for now.

he’s still very curious about you, though, and he wonders what makes him so curious. he’s still wondering when he walks into a bar – the one you proclaimed as your favorite – to see you on your so-called date. toji’s heart flutters for the first time in his life when he sees you. you’re already sat in one of the barstools, sipping on a mixed drink – and you are jaw-droppingly beautiful. toji doesn’t talk to you when he slides into the stool next to you.

you crane your neck to look at whoever just sat in the reserved seat, and it’s toji, not looking any differently from how you saw him a couple weeks ago. you don’t mind. he’s still attractive. you think he might just be the type that’s “unapologetically themselves.” and he is, but not in a way that makes people attracted to him.

“toji!” his name falls off your tongue so perfectly yet again, and you wrap your arms around his neck. he doesn’t hug you back, he only freezes slightly at your touch. again, you don’t mind. it’s painfully obvious he doesn’t do things like this often. you feel lucky he decided to show up in the first place.

as time ticks away, you begin to find out more about toji. he does have a sense of humor, it only takes some chipping away at his hard exterior and a few drinks for him to laugh along with you. he lives alone, and he’s honest about his job – he kills people for a living. that fact doesn’t intimidate you, it only explains why he is the way he is. he tells you a few minute details about his family life, too, and how he grew up.

nothing that he tells you scares you. it only makes sense to you. the pieces of his personality add up with the information he gives you. and silently, you thank him for explaining more about himself.

he just doesn’t want to be lonely anymore.

toji takes you back to his place that night. even the frugal décor – or lack thereof – makes sense to you. it’s a little humorous how everything fits so perfectly with his personality.

“fuck- toji!” you scream, arms shaking as you hold yourself up as toji pounds you from behind. you know you only met him a few weeks ago, and it’s bad to fuck on the first date, but you feel zero remorse with the current situation. his big, rough hands hold your hips in place, lewd, wet noises fill the air when you aren’t moaning for the man behind you. toji doesn’t pay mind to how loud you’re being – he only likes the fact you’re losing yourself because of him.

toji props his leg up on the bed, giving a new angle, and slams his hips forward to meet yours again. you feel him in the deepest parts of you, and god, he’s so warm, he makes your whole body heat up in a way you’ve never felt before. drool rolls out of your mouth, creating a small damp circle below your head. your eyes flash behind you. you see toji in all his glory – he’s actually got some emotion on his face now.

you fall asleep in toji’s bed that night.

toji prays you won’t just be a one-night stand – no, he won’t let you be a one-night stand. in toji’s mind, you’re his now.

in your mind, you are too.

a few weeks after your date, you call up toji, he notices the nervous tone in your voice, but doesn’t mention anything about it.

“toji…” you say, his name sounding so perfect once again, “toji…i’m pregnant.”

shit.

“what?” he sounds furious, and it makes you cower down, even in the comfort of your own home. you don’t repeat yourself. you know he heard you. “are you sure?” he frantically questions, slapping a hand to his forehead as he begins to sweat.

“i’ve been sick ever since our date…and all the tests i took are positive.” you whimper, not handling the news any better than toji. you want to cry and beg toji not to leave. “i’m sorry, toji,” you whisper.

“it’s…okay.” toji replies. he knows the fault lies with both of you, and the heat of the moment, and the fact that he was just so attracted to you he didn’t have time to control himself.

“i don’t know what to do,” you tell toji, tears rolling down your cheeks as you clench the phone in your hand even tighter.

“me either,” toji admits, “but…i’ll help you.” those are the only words he can think of to calm you down.

it’s going to be a sticky situation, no matter what. but you took a chance on toji, you overlooked everything wrong with him. it was now his time to return the favor.

he got his wish, though. you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere anytime soon.

toji hauls the last of your boxes into his apartment, throwing them down on the floor harder than needed.

“you have a lot of shit, woman,” he groans, wiping his forehead. you only giggle in return from your spot on the couch. he didn’t let you pick up any of the heavy boxes.

you spend the rest of the day unpacking all your clothes, completely overtaking toji’s closet with items of your own. all your things add a splash of color into toji’s space, and god knows he needs it. toji’s surprised someone can have so much stuff.

“what the hell is this?” toji asks, pulling something out of a box.

“it’s a curling iron, toji,” you reply as you roll your eyes.

by the time night comes, you’re successfully moved in with the father of your baby. empty boxes are broken down and laid by the door. you’re curled up next to toji on the couch, his arm is wrapped around you. it’s been around 3 months since your first encounter with toji downtown.

ever since you told him you were pregnant, he’s acted differently. he dotes on you, he makes sure you’re comfortable, he buys you meals because he’s clueless as to what else to buy you. toji didn’t think he had it in him. you still aren’t officially together — yet — but toji shows he has a care for you in small ways.

you’re still getting used to one another, though. you and toji differ from each other tremendously, but you have to find a way to make these things work. you show toji love, and he prefers to keep his feelings inside, showing love through him allowing you to touch him and be around him. he hasn’t allowed anyone to be this way with him before. nothing is ever long term with him.

he no longer has a choice now.

“toji,” you speak, “are we dating? are we together?” you ask.

the inquiry causes toji to furrow his eyebrows.

“why?” toji answers you with another question. you shrug.

“I just want to know,” you reply. toji shrugs.

“do you want to get married?” toji petitions.

you push yourself off toji, sitting up. you look at him, eyebrows knitted together, “what?” you almost sound the same as toji did when you told him you were pregnant. and again, the situation repeats itself. toji’s statement doesn’t recur. he knows you heard him.

toji looks at you, a sly grin on his scarred lips.

“okay,” you finally agree, “i’ll marry you, toji.”

love grows. loving someone can change you, for the better or for worse. love matures someone, it will make someone into something they once weren’t, or something they aren’t meant to be. love is beautiful. intimate, soft feelings swell inside of you in a way you cannot express.

you love toji. he loves you, too, you think.

“toji, let go of me,” you playfully giggle as you try to pry the man’s hands off your waist, “i have to cook!”

toji has his arms wrapped around you from behind, not too hard, of course, to make sure there is no damage done to the human you’re growing inside of you. he has no intentions of letting you go, despite your pleas. toji rests his head on your shoulder, kissing the crook of your neck and breathing your scent in.

“i love you.” toji whispers, a barely audible peep.

you’re taken aback for a moment. you understood long ago those words would probably never come out of his mouth; due to the rushed situation you lived in with him. but he was there with you, saying those three words that mean more than anything in this world.

“i love you too, toji,” you reply, now staying still as opposed to your earlier motions of trying to get away.

the both of you just stand there, so close, enveloped in each other’s presence. you haven’t shared a moment like this with him yet.

you crane your neck to plant a kiss on toji’s cheek, no longer fighting to get out of his grasp. you only turn yourself around and wrap your arms around his neck, encapsulating your husband in a deep hug. a hug that means more than anything that can be put into words.

that was the only time he said those words to you.

you’ve been married to toji for five and a half months. he’s a changed man, despite him still carrying the same cold demeanor as the same day you met. he’s proven to be a fine partner for you. you understand him more now, with the way he continues to keep you at arm’s length while also letting you in to his mind, expressing deep emotions whenever he was under the influence. he makes a promise to you that he won’t do anything to harm you or the baby, including with his job. he no longer wants to be put in danger, because it would put you and his baby in danger.

lonely he was no more. he had you, it was all he needed. toji felt that way for months. he would stay content and happy — although he never showed it — with you.

toji often spent his time thinking about you. he’s never had anyone like you in his life.

sometimes, love cannot change you entirely. the newness of it all wears out over time, that’s inevitable. but, it’s the choices you make along the way that show change.

all the while being a changed man, toji is still self-absorbed. he cannot run away from that fact.

 you’re 8 months pregnant. the past few nights, you’ve been alone at toji’s apartment, too pregnant and tired to do anything about it.

just as you’re about to call him up, toji opens the door and stumbles through, drunk as ever. you frown.

“where the hell have you been, toji?” you raise your voice, slowly getting up from the couch.

“why the hell does it matter?” toji retorts, anger in his voice. he wasn’t expecting you to be on his ass as soon as he walked through the door.

“you’ve been gone for three days!” you yell at him, “three whole days. you said you wouldn’t take on any more dangerous jobs!”

toji makes a tch sound with his teeth, “i wasn’t on a job.” he admits.

you look at toji, confused, “where were you?”

toji runs his fingers through his already disheveled hair, “gambling.”

he says it so nonchalantly, like he didn’t just spend half a week away from his pregnant wife gambling. toji had only mentioned gambling as a bad past habit. you didn’t think he did it anymore, but as soon as he admits it, you wonder if he spent all that time gambling instead of working. it would only make sense.

“what…?” you say, voice dropping to nothing more than a whisper. toji only shakes his head and walks off into the bedroom. you stare at him until he disappears.

for weeks after, you and toji continue to argue. your conversations turn into screaming battles until one of you gives up. most nights, toji sleeps on the couch. you slowly begin to realize that everything might have been a mistake.

there’s a reason he’s never had someone like you.

your arguments falter for a while at the arrival of your baby boy. he’s beautiful, a literal bundle of joy. toji takes the role of a father very seriously at first. he makes sure he’s taken care of while you spend a few days bedridden because of the birth. you love to watch toji through your bedroom door, while he holds the baby swaddled up as he cooks for you.

a glimmer of hope remains in your heart for your marriage.

toji joins you in bed that night, the baby safely tucked away in a small bassinet on your side of the bed. you’re wrapped in toji’s arms again. the world is right. you fall asleep to the sounds of your husband’s snores. it’s a feeling you haven’t had in a long time.

selfishness is a cruel disease.

a couple months after having your baby, you’re not so lonely, spending most of your time taking care of him. you become too busy and burnt out from being a parent that you don’t notice toji’s late nights again. he always joins you in bed, at some point, but at the end of the day you’re sleeping too soundly to notice the time.

slowly, the rekindled love begins to fade for toji. he’s never there, except for when the sun is down. once you’re able to stay awake past 9p.m., the nasty monster of arguments comes back at full force.

“shut the hell up, woman! you’re pissing me off!” toji yells. the baby is wailing in your bedroom, but you are too preoccupied with your husband to do anything.

“are you kidding me? you reek of cheap perfume,” you retort, voice matching the loudness of toji’s, “who the fuck were you with?”

“none of your goddamned business!” toji shouts, taking a step closer to tower over you. he does nothing to intimidate you. you were never scared of him, so why would you be now?

“it is my business, i’m your wife!” you reply to his remarks.

toji scoffs. he makes a decision quickly, not thinking about any repercussions. he points a finger towards the door.

“get the hell out.”

your face falls from anger into an expression that can only be described as heartbreak. your husband of almost – almost ­­– a year is kicking you out. toji’s face remains stern and cold, not a pang of regret for doing this to you.

thousands of questions run through your mind, painful silence falls over the room, and you can hear your baby screaming once more. no time is given to ask toji anything. and for once, you’re scared. not exactly scared of toji, but of the fact you don’t know how things are going to end up without him.

your shoulders relax. you look toji in the eyes, unable to hide your heartbreak, but overall, you decide to keep an unbothered façade.

indifference doesn’t matter to toji. neither does sadness, or anger.

it only takes you a few minutes to pack a bag with enough things for you and the baby. you do your best to calm him down before leaving. you walk over to the door, looking toji in the eyes once more, and for the first time, toji can see the rage in them. the rage that he caused.

“i hate you.”

you slam the door on your way out, a bag on one shoulder and the baby on your other side. you think about what toji was doing, but alas, you don’t really care. it only took a few minutes and a couple hundred hurtful words for toji to be dead to you.

toji watches from his window as you walk down the sidewalk, disappearing into the crowd with his son. he thinks about where you’re going, who you’ll stay with, and how his life will end up now that you’re more than likely gone for good.

he’s a lonely man again. he’s leaving behind someone else, yet again.

but, he doesn’t really care.

[lxdymoon0357]

I’m seeing requests are open, craving Callisto (from Death is the only ending for the Villainess or Villains are destined to die) X reader. Prompt; they are in a relationship for years, and it’s healthy as it can be, and in healthy relationships arguments are bound to happen no? One day they have an argument that escalates so much that the reader cries, and this is the first time that Callisto witnesses them cry ever. Feel free to range this from tears sliding down the cheeks or full on bawling, but how would Callisto react to seeing his beloved cry for the very first time in an argument in a relationship they have been in for years?

(Okay, now I'm too sure if this came out well....But it's pretty short, kinda upset about that)

© Writing belongs to me, Lxdymoon0357. Do not plagiarize, but reblogging, liking and commenting is deeply appreciated.

The heart tears apart...

...They say guilt is like rust- it is slow...but powerful and it eats the person alive...How was Callisto suppose to realize that saying was true until your cries fell on deaf ears...? This was not what he thought was result in tonight's anger...And it was all his fault...

He had been upset all day after someone spoke ill of your relationship, saying you're too good for him or he's too wild or he's not deserving of it...He's proud of his achievements, including achieving your love, but sometimes when chronic words are repeated...

They're like tiny pebbles, they don't hurt but there is one stone once in a while which when thrown bleeds into the skin...and that's what happens with vile words of stupid nobles who speak the same thing over and over again...Suddenly he didn't like your relationship for a second, not because of you...Because of himself, he felt angry as his mind spoke that he was tying you down, that he was not worthy of this and that there was someone better for you...

"WHAT DON'T YOU REALIZE, IT'S YOUR UTTER FAULT THAT I DON'T LIKE BEING WITH YOU ANYMORE?!" He yelled angrily, his eyes seeing red

......Was that really him? The one who fell down on his knees in a dying breath when he was away form you for too long, and Callisto didn't realize what he said until it fell in your ears and tears slipped down your cheeks..

Those eyes whom he always wanted to be filled with happiness, the same face he wanted to glow with beauty, smiles and laughter were now covered in tears because of him and suddenly inside him broke as he stopped in between his words, frozen..

You staring down on the ground with tears down your cheeks as he stopped his words, absolutely torn apart,

"Baby-I...I."

he couldn't say anything as he walked closer, he had never seen you cry and he knows why he doesn't let you even cry cause the sight was mentally painful to make him cry on his own as he walked a bit close, taking a hold of your wrist of the hand you were using to rub your eyes harshly to wipe the tears away.

You tried to pull away, but his grip on your wrist was tight as he pulled you in a tight hug, hiding your face in his chest, letting your cry ins expensive tuxedo, inhaling his cologne to calm yourself, clinging to him...

You would have never expected an argument to end with this, as he gently cried in your neck as he sat down and picked you up, pulling him on your lap, apologizing over and over in your skin.

You can't deny, it felt bad...but seeing him upset felt even worse, as you softly ran your fingers through his golden-blonde hair, as if threaded with the purest gold in this world...with the shine of a sun, such a bright smile he had..how sad most people couldn't see it, you did...it was gorgeous and so his sadness hurts just as bad as his anger..

You softly pulled his face up and kissed him, maybe you'll try to fix this again, how gorgeous he was..you couldn't deny his love...and you didn't mind his anger directed at you, even if heart tears apart, he fixed it with all he had..

[salty-autistic-writer]

Buck sits on a hospital bed and looks down at his bandaged hands. Mild burns. They add to the considerable amount of smoke inhalation that makes his throat feel as dry as sandpaper. At least his coughing already got better. Buck's doctor assured him he would be able to leave soon. Too bad there's no home he can return to. 

He stares at his hands and feels … numb. It happened so fast. So fast, it almost seems like a dream. But it’s real. And everything still smells like smoke.

His loft. It’s gone.

In the middle of the night, flames consumed the walls in that scary astonishing speed he’s so well familiar with. And he couldn't stop it.

So many memories. Burnt down to ash. Buried underneath rubble. Gone.

A light knock at the doorframe makes him perk up. Buck expects to see Maddie who left to get some water and a snack. Or Chimney. Or Hen. Or Bobby. But it’s neither one of them.

“Tommy?” Buck looks up, too surprised to prepare himself for the pain he feels when he actually sees Tommy. For the first time in weeks. “What … what are you doing here?”

“I … Howie called me,” Tommy says, avoiding direct eye contact.

“Of course he did,” Buck mutters, looking back down at his hands, picking at a loose thread. Chimney. The ever-hopeful matchmaker.

Tommy clears his throat. “Are you okay?”

Buck flinches. The soft tone with which those words are spoken feels like a punch to his gut.

Are you okay? 

Okay. 

Anger wells up inside Buck’s tight chest like dark ice water, rising to the surface of his mind and fading out all the sadness. Buck glares up at Tommy. “Seriously? That’s what you’re asking about? After weeks of silence. Of nothing. You dare to show up here just like that and ask if I’m okay?!”

It’s Tommy’s turn to wince, his eyes widening slightly. “I’m sorry.”

Somehow, that only makes Buck even angrier. He knows it’s true. Honest. He knows that Tommy cares. And he kind of wishes Tommy wouldn’t. But here they are. Still care about each other way too much.

Tiredness creeps into the murky combination of anger and sadness.

“It burnt,” Buck says quietly.

“What?” Tommy asks.

“My scrapbook. It burnt. All the pictures too. The pictures I put on the fridge. And now I have nothing left.” Buck can feel the tears coming. He doesn’t want them. Doesn’t want to cry in front of Tommy. “All the memories I started to collect. They’re gone.”

I used to look at them. I used to remember the time when I thought I was finally on my way to happiness.  

“It’s all gone,” Buck breathes. And then he really cries.

An ugly sob that escapes his lips. And he hates it. Hates it so much. But he has no energy left to hide.

“Evan,” Tommy says, barely audible. And even though the sadness is suffocating him, Buck has the space for a relieved sigh. Not Buck. Still Even. And it still sounds so right … How does it sound so right after all the wrong directions their path took?

The bed dips as Tommy sits down beside Buck, hesitantly putting a hand on his heaving back. “It’s not all gone,” Tommy says.

Buck wipes at his burning eyes. “It’s not?” He asks, doubtfully.

“No. I … I’ve been collecting memories too. I can share them with you. If you want them,” Tommy says.

“That would be great,” Buck admits, trying to take a deep breath through his stuffed nose with a grimace. “Because … Because they really make me happy. The memories.”

“They do?” Tommy asks, his hand still on Buck’s back, but apparently not daring to move. “Don’t they make you … angry?”

“Not really. Sometimes they make me a little sad. Because I start to think of what could have been,” Buck says. “I start to picture all the happy memories the future might have given me.”

“But you don’t know if those memories would have been happy. What if … What if that future turns out to be so painful that you end up wishing you wouldn’t have lived through it in the first place?” Tommy asks, his voice strained. “Aren’t you scared of what you can’t know?”

Buck shakes his head. “No. I can’t live like that. The future isn’t set in stone. And as long as I think the memories I want to make are worth fighting for … Things will be alright.”

We would have been alright.  

Tommy’s hand is burning him. But when it retreats, Buck almost tells him to put it back. Maybe that’s pathetic. But he can’t find the energy to care.

Tommy is silent for a long moment. He seems lost in his own thoughts, his fingers rubbing over his jean-cladded knees in rhythmic movements.

Buck glances at him. Through a blur of his lingering tears, he suddenly realizes that Tommy looks … rough. 

His edges are sharper. The lines on his face seem deeper. There are shadows under his eyes and he’s close to growing a beard. 

And maybe that’s pathetic too, but Buck suddenly wants to hope that Tommy is feeling that same ache Buck has been feeling for such a long time now. The ache that forces him to bake. To keep his hands busy and his mind empty.

He wonders. What is Tommy doing to soothe his ache?

Buck almost asks.

But before he can, Tommy gets up. He clears his throat. “Are you staying with Maddie and Howie?”

“Yeah,” Buck says quietly. “For now. I guess.”

Tommy nods. He’s chewing on his lower lip. Lingers. Seems like there’s something else he wants to say.

And the silence stretches like a rubber band. The tension is almost palpable in the room.

Finally, Tommy says, “If I would text you in a few days. Would you read it? Would you read it all?”

“I would,” Buck says, remembering the bubbles. “I promise,” he adds.

Tommy exhales shakily. “Okay. Alright. I’m truly sorry, Evan. For the loft. And for what you lost. I can't change what happened. I can’t give the past back to you. But whatever happens, whatever you do after you read what I am going to write, I will give you everything I have. So that you can start a new collection.”

“Thank you,” Buck says, his throat tightening.

Tommy nods. He starts to walk out of the room with slow heavy steps.

Before he can disappear, Buck works up the courage to say, “Tommy. Wait.”

Tommy stops, glancing back at Buck.

“Are … are you okay?” Buck asks.

Tommy’s brows furrow with surprise, but then his eyes soften. “Honestly? No. And I haven’t been in a long time. But I am finding ways to keep the hope alive,” he says. “Goodbye, Evan. Rest well.”

And then he really leaves.

Buck stares into the void and the ache is back. But the pain has a note of hope in its bite. Maybe it’s the same kind of hope Tommy was talking about. And maybe he shouldn’t allow himself to feel it. But he can’t help it.

Apparently, his heart, even though covered in the ash the night left behind, is still convinced that the future he pictured is worth fighting for.

(AO3 Link)